


We Are RK

by Ausp_ice, Devi_ark



Series: We Are RK [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anti-Android Sentiments (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Near Death, Other, Sharing a Body, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausp_ice/pseuds/Ausp_ice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devi_ark/pseuds/Devi_ark
Summary: If they repaired Nines, and he left for help, Connor would die.If they repaired Connor, and he left for help, Nines would die.Assaulted and left to bleed, their only chance to survive is each other.
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Connor/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Series: We Are RK [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621717
Comments: 66
Kudos: 304





	1. Interference

**Author's Note:**

> A BIG THANK YOU to Ausp-ice for providing the concept idea for this fic in the [Detroit: New ERA Discord server](https://discordapp.com/invite/GqvNzUm). It immediately caught my eye- and I ended up writing out this first chapter in a few hours on a motivation kick!

EMP’s, depending on their strength, did not mean death for an android. The disruption would temporarily stall an android until they could clear their scattered mind after the blast faded.

Nines was walking with Connor down the street. They had been partnered on a case together, and were just getting back to the precinct. They would reach the DCPD in thirty minutes, after making a stop at the cafe so Connor could get their lieutenant his favorite drink- Nines was still debating about getting Gavin a drink, but they had time. They turn down another street, just as quiet and empty, graffiti marking the broken fencing. It seemed peaceful.

The next thing Nines was aware of after the EMP passed, was a flood of warnings on his HUD, letting him know that his legs and right arm were damaged from repeated strikes. He would not be able to stand, but he could still use his right arm. A static-pitch rang in his mind.

“You fuckin’ things think you can walk around like you own the goddamn place?”

Anti-android thugs.

A group stands in his distorted vision as one thug sits down on top of him, getting up close. The bottom half of their face covered with a cloth that would make it too difficult for his systems to accurately recognize them- even if it was functional right now.

The thug reaches for Nines’ face, some of the members cheering them on between crude insults, when Nines uses his damaged right hand to throw a punch. The exposed parts scratched against the cloth of the man's face. Tearing the fabric and revealing the skin below as his head whipped to the side.

 _“Fuckin-_ _son of a-!"_ The man drew a knife and drove it into his hand, causing Nines to wince from the new flood of warnings.

He kept his left hand to himself, with his systems still sluggish, he didn’t want to draw attention to his functional limb. Not while he was outnumbered by the six individuals surrounding him and-

_Connor?!_

While the thug above him continued to take his frustrations out on his right arm- creating more warnings he did his best to ignore- Nines carefully moved his head to check his sides. And on his left- Nines figured out what that static pitch had been.

Connor had been screaming.

He thought it had come from his own systems, malfunctioning as they were. But another thug possessed an axe, and kept driving it into Connor’s shoulder, the group laughing as Connor's internal systems were exposed with each sickening crunch of plastics, metals, and wiring. His predecessors legs were damaged as well, he noted. But it was less so than Nine’s- a bat taken to them instead of the axe.

“Hey- bot,” The thug grabs him by the underside of his jaw, pulling his eyes away from Connor’s torment. “Think you're such hot shit _now?_ ” A dark look crosses their bruising face, and the thug reaches his other hand up, holding a thumb over Nines' right eye.

“Heard Markus lost an eye, maybe you can join him if you live.” He snickers, and presses the thumb down.

Nines closes the eye on something like _instinct_ , not wanting the slimy human’s hand on his delicate eye. And his head jerked uselessly as the pressure and discomfort increased until-

RIGHT OPTICAL UNIT DAMAGED

_No shit_ , Nines thinks.

The static had stopped, and Nines’ remaining eye blinked, unsure if he wanted to know what that meant.

The thugs voices drift above him, cracking more insensitive jokes, complaining about job security and androids rights. With the last one, they loathe the thought of being charged with _assault_ for just dismantling something _defective_.

And then they’re gone.

His diagnostics are still functional, listing out all of his problems as well as a shutdown timer.

THIRIUM LOSS

SHUTDOWN 00:05:04

His legs were spilling the worst of it, after his right arm. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he dared to look over at Connor.

RK800 PARTS

COMPATIBLE

Nines recoils at the notification. Connor is _more_ than spare parts. And the pained- _alive -_ expression that meets Nines’ relieves him.

Connor’s voice is filled with feedback, “N-ni..” he attempts to shift over, so Nines uses his good arm to hold Connor’s face.

The interface bombards the two of them with errors from each others systems, but it allows them to try and form some kind of plan to get help faster than talking.

_If they repaired Nines, and he left for help, Connor would die._

_If they repaired Connor, and he left for help, Nines would die._

But there was a way they could both survive.

- _Are you sure? There’s a chance I will kill you_. Nines asks Connor over their link.

- _It’s more than no chance._ Connor responds. A determined hope bleeding through the thought.

So Nines lets go of Connor, pushing himself to sit up. Rips the fabric of his pants to reveal his knees, but stops short. He needs both of his hands functional to pop off the joint, and he cannot feel his right one anymore.

Shifting on the ground beside him causes him to look over at Connor, who knows that moving will only be worse for him. He nudged his own right arm, completely severed from the shoulder and removed. However, the connection point remained intact.

RK800 RIGHT ARM

COMPATIBLE

Nines tears his jacket and shirt then, too, figuring it would be more effort to carefully remove. Pressing his fingers into specific points around his shoulder, the skin dissipates and his arm comes off with a click.

Pulling debris off of the connection point in Connor’s arm, the joint reconnects to Nine’s torso. He doesn’t bother regenerating the skin and moves back to his knees.

With Connor’s legs and hand now his own, he rolls over to his predecessor, his shutdown timer not gone, but no longer an immediate issue.

“I.” Is all Connor says, and it takes a moment more- when Connor lets the skin around his right eye fade- for Nines to realize he said _eye_ not _I_.

He removes his own first, observes the crushed piece of glass and metal before dropping it on the ground. Connor blinks, uncomfortable, as Nines removes the part. When the right side of his vision is restored, he blinks away his current objective.

Now was the hard part.

Designed for the military- an android military- it was deemed useful if an RK900 could salvage parts for repairs or data. Accessing a function he has never used before, he feels strange as his internal parts shift in his chest. As they did, Nines took great care in removing the plates on the left side of Connor’s head- giving him access to Connor’s processor.

Before he disconnects Connor’s brain, he holds his predecessor’s face in his palm again.

No words exchanged, but Nines tries to give Connor a last moment of reassurance. He feels Connor soak it up, but with Nines' own fears, he lets go right before he removes the processor.

Without a brain, Connor’s body freezes, face falling into a neutral expression. Disturbed, Nines looks away, and pulls up his shirt before letting the skin vanish. Opening his chest, he carefully connects what's left of Connor to his systems.

SYNCING…

REBOOT REQUIRED

Nines lies where he is next to Connor's body- forced to follow the command or put his predecessor- his _brother's_ mind at risk.

CYBER **LIFE** INC.

MODEL RK900

SERIAL#: 313 248 317 - 87

BIOS 8.2 REVISION 0162

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… SPARE PARTS OK

INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… UNSTABLE

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… UNSTABLE

MEMORY STATUS… DUPLICATE MEMORIES RECORDING

ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONAL

SEEK CYBER **LIFE** REPAIR

When he wakes up and the world lurches into focus, he feels no different. But at the same time- _everything_ feels different.

_Connor?_

_Nines?_

He- they?- are stunned, as Nine’s system quite _literally_ synced them. They- he?- don’t know where the other’s thoughts begin and end, the sensation vastly different from exchanging information in an interface.

Disoriented, Nines?-Connor?- they attempt to stand together. Nines unused to Connor’s parts, and Connor unused to Nines’.

Looking briefly at what’s left of Connor’s body, and the blue blood staining the ground, a part of them wishes they could bring it with them, while the other half assures that Connor’s mind is more important to save.

He-they- stumble down the streets, the few androids and humans they can't avoid giving him wary looks. He wonders what his dad will think when Hank sees him- them. If Gavin will be more disgusted with them- him than when he ‘licks’ evidence.

Nines assures Connor- assures himself? - that it doesn’t matter how they react, they will help them.

Leaning on buildings for support every few blocks, they trip through the entrance to DCPD. The android secretaries’ LED’s flash red, while the humans jerk upright, including anyone in the waiting room.

“ _Li-h-eu-a-te-n-na-k-nt_.” Unable to coordinate their shared voice, Connor’s words come out at the same time as Nines, corrupting both sets of dialogue. Nines concedes on formality, and they try again, saying, “ _Hank_ ,” much clearer.

Those waiting have huddled in a corner, the secretaries vanishing as officers replace them, Gavin and Hank among them.

“Nines?” Gavin asks, confusion mixed in mortification.

“Connor?” Hank demands, still concerned but hiding it better, as he approaches.

“ _I’m here._ ” They say-

And collapse into stasis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is also [a comic version](https://www.deviantart.com/ausp-ice/art/Return-DBH-RK1700-Merge-AU-Comic-827439498) that Ausp-ice made for parts of this chapter, and I love it so much??? Go give them love too!<3


	2. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking in the aftermath, Connor and Nines have to explain their new situation to Hank and Gavin.

CYBER **LIFE** INC.

MODEL RK900

SERIAL#: 313 248 317 - 87

BIOS 8.2 REVISION 0162

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… SPARE PARTS OK

INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK

MEMORY STATUS… DUPLICATE MEMORIES RECORDING

ALL SYSTEMS OK 

READY

They first register a ceiling when their HUD comes online. Looking down, the room is a stark white. Vitals from their shared body list themselves off on the screen to their right- informing them that they've been in stasis for a little over eight hours.

Five people occupy the room- if Connor and Nines count as two. Their Lieutenant- _and father_ \- sit in the room’s only chair by the bed. He was snoring, and they could both see traces of tear tracts soaking into Hank's unruly beard. They shoved down the thoughts of the last time the Lieutenant had been in a hospital setting waiting on a son, and moved on.

In the corner of the room, was Detective- Gavin- _Reed_. Reed had been looking over the screen, seeing the flow of data, and they wondered if he understood what exactly he was looking at- or passing the time trying to decipher it. Now that they are awake, though, Reed is looking at them- no. At the parts that were once attached to Connor's body. There is a blanket covering their legs, and though they both want to, Connor and Nines fight the urge to pull the cloth over their head.

Simon was the last person in the room. Despite not changing his face from a standard PL600, the way Simon carried himself like the world weighed him down- and likely, still did- was unmistakable.

He's checking on the machine attached to the base of their neck- which is likely what woke them from stasis. The PL600 meets their eyes, and smiles lightly.

“How are you feeling?”

Without thinking, they both respond, “ _Op-al-era-i-tio-ve-nal_.” Cringing at the distortion, they take an extra moment to exchange dialogue prompts between them until they can pick one to both say. “Fine.” They decide.

“You don’t fucking _sound_ fine.” Gavin pushed himself off the wall, standing behind Hank. “What the fuck happened to you?”

One half of them wants to be sarcastic in the face of Reed's angry tone, while the other half wants to speak softly and comfort Gavin's rage-concealed panic. It leaves the two of them thinking through twice as many prompts as they would when separate.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Hank groans as he wakes, fresh tears immediately wetting his eyes, “Kid, are you okay? Where’s Connor- they- they said you’ve got his parts-”

“I am Connor.” They respond, the question much easier to answer.

“Then where the fuck is Nines?” Gavin cuts in, " _You-_ "

“I am Nines.” They repeat in the same tone. 

“Is that why Connor’s processor is in your chest?” Simon inquires, and both humans snap towards the PL600. “We didn’t want to remove it- in case of any issues. We had to use Connor’s blueprints as a reference to repair you, but between the files being so corrupted _on top of_ all your parts surrounding Connor's processor being shifted out of place- it wasn't easy." Simon sighed, "Josh almost declared the files useless until we got Mr. Kamski to look at them."

Unlike themselves, Hank did not hide his dislike at the billionaire's mention. Gavin also acted with disdain, however, and they both saved that confusion for later.

“Our processors are synchronized into our system," They explain, ensuring they don't pull any cords when they sit up, "We are the same person- but also, not."

Without the mounting errors from hours before, they can coordinate themselves significantly better. They open and close each of their hands, Connor’s arm slightly smaller and slimmer than Nines’. “We were returning to the precinct, when an EMP stalled our systems. Anti-android humans crowded me-" they trip,"- _us_ , and left after damaging us both. Taking the parts I- _Nines_ needed from Connor and becoming a single unit allowed us both to walk away alive.”

Hank swiped a hand under his eyes, tired despite having just woken up, “Did either of you get faces?”

They thought back over both their memories. Three of the thugs had held back- but still watched their abuse. One carried a baseball bat, one held the axe, and the last one that targeted Nines had the knife. Each of the individuals had the bottom half of their faces covered- except one. No longer damaged, their facial recognition program is working again.

“Zachary Forest damaged my- _Nines_ ’ right arm and eye. Nines tore his mask- the other five thugs are unidentifiable."

“Shit,” Gavin curses, slumping against the wall behind the lieutenant, before gesturing to their form. “Are you guys- can you like- split again? Or are you stuck like that?”

Simon’s LED cycles yellow, “Jericho recovered Connor’s body and Nine’s parts over seven hours ago. If we repair the body- it should be possible to move Connor’s processor back.” 

"Why wasn't I fuckin' told about that?" Hank turns on Simon.

"We weren't certain he was dead, so we didn't want to worry you-"

As they talk, something between Nines and Connor’s shared body ripples, a calm disturbed, which left the both of them uncomfortable. As the feeling passes through their minds, they wonder who thought it first and why, but they can't pin it down.

So they dismiss it as a later task, and reach for the cord behind their neck, making the gesture obvious.

"Let me get that." The PL600 uses removing the device as a way to escape their lieutenant going 'Dad Mode' on him, as Gavin calls it. 

Free, they climb off the bed, and walk in a slow circle. Nines feels slightly shorter- Connor slightly taller- they move much easier, and more graceful than they had operated while trying to reach the DPD.

“How long until my- until Connor’s body is repaired?”

“Could be hours or days,” Simon responds, “We had enough information to stop the thirium loss, but we're still trying to salvage more data, and see if there's anything left of Nines' blueprints.” His LED cycles yellow, “Even when we're able to repair Connor's body, we still have to custom-print his prototype components and make sure that separating the two of you won't cause you more problems."

“Can we leave then?” All three individuals eyes shoot up at the question.

“Yes, but-” Simon starts.

“You two seriously wanna go out like- like _that?_ ” Gavin points to both their legs and right shoulder.

Though the parts are compatible, the skin-map doesn’t connect at the point the RK800 parts connect to RK900- leaving a white line of their exposed chassis.

“Do we have a spare change of clothes? They will cover it.” The skin-map not generating wasn’t affecting their ability to process the world. Much less than having two minds, anyways.

Gavin scoffs, while Hank reaches under his chair. “Yeah, I, uh, grabbed clothes for both of you," Hank side-eyes the PL600, "cause they didn’t tell me if either of you had kicked the bucket yet.” He placed the bag on the bed, and they opened it.

Laying out the clothing, they find themselves conflicted by the choices. There’s no question about wearing Nines’ pants, as Connor’s will be too small. But after putting that over their briefs- there was the tacky striped shirt Hank let Connor borrow to the point of owning it, and the soft blue turtleneck Nines had purchased in a rare moment of indulgence. 

Knowing it will look silly, they put on the turtleneck on first, and then button Hank’s old shirt overtop. Gavin snorts upon them doing so.

“You look awful.” Gavin says, and Hank glares.

“What would _you_ do if you and Hank shared the same body?” They quip, and as soon as the phrase leaves their mouth, Nines regrets it, and Connor apologizes for inflicting the harsh tone.

Their humans scrunch their faces up in disgust. “Would rather not, thanks.”

“I won’t keep you here-” Simon steps closer, “but you should stay at home until we can get Connor's body repaired, and fix or re-create Nines' arm and legs. While your systems ping back alright, we have no idea what will come from you trying to do casework in this state. And- Those that injured you may try to... 'finish what they started' if they know you're both alive."

_Heard Markus lost an eye, maybe you can join him if you live._

Zach’s words bounce between their minds, and they know it’s Connor who reassures Nines that they’re okay now. That Zach’s words don’t matter. They're both aware that even Connor is disturbed by them, but is trying to hold those feelings back, because it won’t be good for either of them to dwell on it.

“We will stay with Hank.”

“Then let's get going, spent all night in this shitty chair.” Hank puts the remaining clothing in the bag, zipping it. Gavin steps back, muttering about having to stand while Hank at least had the ‘shitty chair’.

“So...” Hank starts, feeling awkward, as Simon guides all of them into the elevator, “If you’re both Connor and Nines- what the hell should I call you?”

“ _C-n-o-_ ” They stop themselves, recalculating, “You can use both Connor and Nines, we don’t mind.”

“Do you know who is who?” He wonders.

“Not entirely." They watch the floors that pass them by, "Sometimes we are one, sometimes we are two. It confuses us.”

“Confuses everybody, hell.” Hank sighs. “Fuckin’- I gotta get a report from you two- you wanna do it at home?”

They double-check the DPD's shifts- Hank's will start in an hour and a half. It will take them thirty minutes to arrive home, and a fifteen minute drive from there if Hank wanted to be at work on time. They calculated there was a low probability of Hank 'giving a shit' about being late to work, but there were other issues about Hank interviewing them.

As though they didn't know, they ask, “Will you be heading to the precinct after?”

“Yeah, cause I wanna get this Forest guy to tell me who his fucking buddies are and throw 'em all in a cell for doing _this_ to you both!” Hank gestures to their face.

“Then we can head to the station instead.”

“You should stay home.” Simon presses.

“We would be alone there.” They state, and it leaves the elevator claustrophobic. On one hand, they're wary of going to the precinct from the last time they were there, but on the other hand was the incomprehensible thought of staying home alone- even though Sumo would be there. They didn't think it would be enough, and if they said nothing, there was an 84 percent chance Hank and Reed were going to agree with Simon.

“Fine." Hank concedes, "But you're there as _victims_ , not _detectives-_ hear me?”

“Got it.” They respond with a nod, and Simon sighs.

“I suppose you would be safer in a police station.”

When they get outside, Reed slips away to his own car without a word. Nines is sure it’s because he’s uncomfortable talking to Connor, and stops his brother's apology before it begins. 

Sitting in the passenger seat of Hank's old car, they open the glove box and pull a quarter from it. It rolls across their hand as their lieutenant tosses the bag in the backseat before inserting the keys.

The radio turns on, left on Hank's usual music station. _Knights of the Black Death_ blare through the speakers, stuttering Connor and Nines' shared system with the conflicting emotions flitting between their minds. Connor always enjoyed the chaotic sounds, _full of energy_ he would say. But for Nines, _chaotic sounds_ is all it ever was.

Hank doesn’t notice their internal struggle, too focused on the road, as he puts the old CyberLife Tower behind them. The coin falls into their lap as they try to sort through their feelings. But, instead of dropping it or acknowledging that it was too different for one of them to concede, the emotions somehow _smear_ together, leaving behind a reduced enjoyment of the music. With that, they both relaxed.

At a red light, Hank switches the radio to a news station, muttering, “shit _,_ sorry Nines, forgot you hated metal.”

They wonder about sharing their altered perspective, but they are unsure if Hank would understand them. They hardly know what happened themselves.

Another thing for later, they decide, and respond, “That’s alright, Hank. I- Nines spends more time in Gavin’s vehicle. You should hear the music he plays.”

“ _Ugh,_ ” Hank groans as the light changes green, “That kid’s music changes every month, but it's the same pop shit over and over.” He shook his head, "Don't know how you haven't thrown him out a window yet."

They partially crack a smile, as they string dialogue together, "With spite alone, I think he would survive defenestration just to continue to plague you with his music taste." 

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth." Hank chuckles with his own smile, and they settled in for the drive, glancing out the window to watch the cloudy city pass them by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter is Ausp_ice’s and you can see it [here](https://sta.sh/0x1h215khv3) too! Thank youuuu<333  
> You guys should notice that this fic is now a series! Ausp_ice & I have both kinda gone nuts with this 😂 I hit a bump in chapter three, so Auspice helped me write it, and then chapter four I got stuck... and then they wrote a pre-fic (that I helped flesh out)- go check it out if you haven’t!


	3. Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at the DPD, decisions are hard and conversations awkward, as the people around them learn of their unique circumstance.

“Try not to spook everyone like last time you two were here, hey? I gotta talk to Jeffrey.”

“We will try not to.” Try, they tell Hank, because Nines’ neutral expression on a _good_ day is fierce. And _now_ , there’s a stark difference from their cold grey left eye, and their warm brown right eye. Everyone will know something is wrong with them. 

They pocket their coin, and follow Hank as they enter the building.

"Go get your visitor pass- passes? I don't know." Hank drifts into awkward mumbling as he heads over to enter the bullpen, scanning his badge as he goes. Leaving Connor and Nines to talk to one of the secretaries.

Two of the three secretaries that saw them last night were present. They approached an ST300 that had chosen the name Ray- and was currently Officer Tina Chen's girlfriend.

"Can I help you?" They start with a customer-service smile, but as Connor and Nines struggle for what to say, the act drops, and Ray quietly asks, "Are you okay?"

"Fine." They say, but they're just as unsure about those words as Ray seems, "We need a visitors pass, we're civilians today."

"We?" Ray wondered, concern in her expression. 

"Connor and Nines." They explain, because they need more time to think. _One pass or two- if they only take one pass- then who's?_ "Due to an assault, we are sharing the same body." Recognition lit up Ray's face, and the other secretaries fail to appear disinterested.

"That's possible?"

"We are living proof." And then they frown, because they're still struggling. _One or two, if one- who?_ It was starting to sound like one of Gavin's songs, purposely annoying to get stuck in one's mind, "Do you think we should have two passes?" They ask Ray, hoping she'll pick for them, because their thoughts weren't mixing as they had in the car.

"Oh- right!" Ray blinked, as though just now realizing they were at work, "Since Connor and Nines- mentally- are entering the building, it would make sense people know you're both in there, right?"

They nodded- that did make sense.

So they accept two visitor passes, for Connor Anderson and Nines Anderson respectively. Looping the passes around their neck, they do leave Nines' on top- since their face is significantly more Nines than Connor.

Entering the bullpen, they see Hank talking to Jeffrey in his office. They both appear frustrated, but thankfully hadn’t reached shouting. A few androids and humans looked their way, but turned away just as quickly. 

“Man, Nines, are you good?” Except one, to their left.

“Hello O-C-“ they frown, and find a middle ground much easier than with their passes, “-Miller. I’m fine.”

Miller’s eyebrows shoot up, and they can’t tell if it was from the static, or the fact that Nines did not say ‘Officer Miller’ as usual. “I am reporting an assault on myself and Connor.” 

“Oh, I guess that explains the uh,” he pointed to his own right eye, “Connor let you borrow his parts?”

“Just for now, hopefully.”

“Damn, big guy!” Having just come down the hall from the restrooms, Chen is making her way over. From when they checked the DPD’s schedule- she was not on shift, the same as Miller. _Did Ray tell Tina what she saw last night?_ “Thought you’d only be caught dead in your dad’s shirts.”

Oh, right.

Their head tilts as they go to speak, but then Chen catches sight of their right eye and gasps, "Oh my gosh, Nines, what happened to your eye?"

Connor grabs the coin from their pocket, as Nines recalculates their dialogue.

“It was crushed.” They say, flicking the coin into the air and catching it.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“Androids don’t feel pain, Officer.” And when she puts her hands on her hips, unimpressed, Nines continues, “It was uncomfortable, yes.”

“And the brown eye?”

The coin slips from their hand as Connor makes a small miscalculation with the slight difference in the size of their different hands. “...It is Connor's.” Nines says, remembering his earlier thought that Connor is more than spare parts. Chen's eyes widen, and she opens her mouth to speak again— 

“We are sharing this body as one unit.” They catch the question before Chen voices it, and a quiet ‘oh’ leaves the two officers as they bend down to retrieve the fallen coin.

“So Connor’s doing the tricks then?” Miller wonders, pointing to Connor’s resumed calibrations.

“Correct.”

Both Chen and Miller look as though they have more questions they want to ask, but before they get the chance to voice any of them, the Captain’s voice cuts through the bullpen’s chatter.

“Anderson!” They meet Fowler's eyes. “In here.”

Nodding to the officers, they head over to the glass box without another word, pocketing the coin once more. When the door shuts behind them, Fowler speaks.

“Connor _and_ Nines?”

“Yes, Captain?” 

“Have you two already made written reports of the assault?”

Connor’s old eye twitched as they took two seconds to do so. “Yes.”

Fowler crosses his arms, a stern expression over him, “You know that both Hank and Gavin can’t be assigned the case then, right?”

They had. They knew the moment Hank offered to conduct an interview with them at home. Tempting as it was, they didn’t want anyone looking at their case and assuming a bias placed on it- despite their ability to provide video evidence of- _at the very least_ -Zachary’s involvement.

“We are aware.” They say, meeting Hank’s eye in the room, who huffs. He looks anything _but_ pleased about this.

“Good. I’ll be assigning it to another detective, and any of their work will skip Hank and come directly to me- so HR can stay out of it. Until then, you can hand reports and footage to me.”

They nodded, and Fowler’s computer pinged. The captain glanced over, briefly, then turned back, “So what exactly is the situation with your bodies?”

“Connor’s is at New Jericho being refitted with new parts. Nines’ legs and right arm are being analyzed and repaired. Currently- this…” they cycle through a few words, “...combination of RK800 and 900 parts is functional.”

“You get a doctor’s note?”

“Simon informed us that this body is functional with us both present, but recommended staying out of the field- as no two androids have ever shared a body before.” Not exactly what the PL600 had said, but it was close enough.

“Get it in writing and have it sent to me too, and I want you both to take some days off, see what the status of Connor’s body is in the meantime- then I’ll consider even letting you two back into the office.”

Hank leans over to Fowler, in a way that Connor recognizes he’s about to say something he doesn’t want them to hear. He tries to turn off his audio processors, and look away. They both turn, but Nines doesn’t like turning off his senses- and the audio flickers in corrupted as a result.

“ _M-pit-eita-neos- be-rom._ ” 

When the audio passes, they glance over again, and stop fighting over their audio. The captain sighs, shaking his head.

“You two can spend those days here only if you stay out of your desks, and don't disrupt the officers on duty, you hear me?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Fowler’s expression softens for a moment, and he states much more calmly, “I hope you two can get the medical assistance you need- I can't imagine what you’re going through."

Nines and Connor blink as they try to formulate a response, but Fowler beats them to it, waving a hand. "You’re all dismissed.”

The three of them—Hank, Connor, and Nines—leave the glass-walled room. Hank heads to his desk, but Nines and Connor's steps slow; with nothing more to be done until Zachary was found and arrested, they feel oddly aimless. They sweep their eyes across the bullpen, pausing when they spot _Gav- Detec- Reed-_ in the break room. Connor wavers, unsure about approaching him, but Nines’ longing wins out and they find their feet carrying them towards him.

They enter the break room to see the detective facing away from them, waiting for a paper cup to fill with ‘sludge’, as he sometimes called it.

“Hello De-ga-te-v-” They wince, uncomfortable, and he looks over sharply.

“Jesus, what’s with the chalkboard scratching still?”

“It occurs when our dialogue options are too… different. We can't pick one, so we end up speaking both at the same time.”

"That so?" He mused, eyes falling back to his cup as the machine spluttered the last of the dark liquid.

They paused for a moment, exchanging prompts. "Reed," they settled.

"Hmm?" Gavin looked back up at them.

"What we will call you. It’s an adequate balance of formality. Considering that I- that Nines refers to you by your first name, and Connor always uses 'Detective Reed'."

Reed huffs, picking up his cup and leaning over a nearby table. "Yeah, that's a fuckin’ mouthful. Don't know how you… uh.” He faltered, “How he? Doesn't get tired of saying my whole damn title every time." Gavin knocks back his drink with a grimace. "What the hell do I even say to like, talk to the two of you when you're... like this?"

They tilt their head slightly. "You _are_ speaking to the both of us."

"Yeah," Reed snips at them, "that's the problem, isn't it?"

Nines blinks, and Connor's retort is fragmented into half-formed dialogues. 

The detective's eyes flick to their temple- to their LED. "Fuck. I mean-"

"It’s fine." Connor pulls his coin back out, focusing on the familiar glide of the metal across his fingers. "The situation is… unusual. Neither of us knew this was possible until we tried to search through our functions for options last night. This should be temporary." Their movements stall suddenly, and unexpectedly, as a strange uneasiness flits across their system. The coin drops.

That's the second time.

"You sure about that?" The scathing tone couldn't hide the worry that, Nines knew, ran underneath. "Your mood ring‘s done a rave twice now in five minutes."

Bending down to pick up the quarter, they check their LED’s output, and yes- it had flickered red twice so far. "We are functional," they rise, "and as we were saying, this is temporary. Jericho is working on repairing and replacing the necessary components for our individual bodies to eventually separate us."

“Did Simon call you guys then? Cause I was _there_ when he also said your guys’ blueprints were fucked.” 

They open their mouth to respond, but close it after a second. He hasn't, but that could be remedied.

They pull up Simon's serial number from their shared memories, briefly closing their eyes as they reach for connection.

**REQUESTING CONNECTION TO PL600 #501 743 923…**

**RK9̷̙̝̫̮̝͐̅̍̾͒͒͂̅͋͂̕͜ͅ8̶̟̙̻̱̮̗̠̮͍͉̳͈͎̬̌̋̓̍̉̈́͌̌͌̎͠00 #313 248 317 - 8̸̼̠̹̦̭̯̖͗̎͌̿̾̍̅̈́͘͘͝2̶̡̲̙̣̞̻͍͙͎̼̺̐̐ CONNECTED.**

Something felt… off.

⊳ ̶H̸e̴l̷l̸o̴ ̶S̵imon̴ ̷ ⊳ ̵H̵ey ̵S̸i̵m̸o̶n̷

⊳ Nines? And Connor? Is that both of you?

⊳ ̶Y̶e̶s̴ ̷ ⊳ Y̷e̷s̷,̸ ̴w̴e̶'̶r̸e̸ ̶h̶e̵r̶e̶.̴

⊳ I’m having some trouble understanding you two, do you guys need help?

⊳ ̶D̵o̷ ̶y̵ou ̵k̷n̴o̴w̸ ̵w̷hen ̵o̴u̸r̴ ̸b̵o̵d̸i̷e̵s̸ ̷w̶i̶l̶l̵ ̵b̸e̴ ̴ready? ⊳ ̴W̵e̵'̴r̴e̸ fine.̵ ̶W̷i̶l̶l̸ ̴m̷y̴ ̶b̸ody ̷b̴e̸ ̴o̵p̵e̵r̴a̶t̴i̸o̵n̸a̸l̵ ̴s̶o̷o̴n̷?̸ ̸A̷n̷d̴ ̷N̶i̷n̸es' ̴l̵i̸m̶b̴s̴?̶

⊳ Hang on a moment, I’m going to call your father.

**CONNECTION END**

They frown as Simon ended the call- while their logs remained corrupted, it had been the most ‘two’ they had been so far. They feel uneasy, and they couldn’t define _what for_ exactly.  
Opening their eyes again, they look out across the bullpen, and sure enough, Hank is answering his phone. 

"-ey, are you two sure you’re working? Fuckin’ hell, you BSOD or whatever?"

They turn their head to see Reed peering at them, a torn expression on his face, a hand lifted in an aborted motion.

"We're _fine_." Their tone is colored with an odd blend of Connor's irritation and Nines' exasperation. "We were calling Simon now, as he hadn’t so far. We were just trying to l-as-e-ce-a-rt-r-ai-n-n the exact status of our repairs. It’s…" They trailed off as Hank stepped into the break room. 

"What's this about you two glitching out?” Hank stressed, glancing over their form as if he’d see a physical injury, “It hasn't even been two hours, Jesus…"

Connor and Nines tilt their head at the lieutenant. "We are not 'glitching,' Hank. We are perfectly f-a-un-l-c-r-ti-i-o-g-na-h-l-t." All three of them cringe at the word.

"Perfectly, my ass…" Reed mutters.

They correct themselves, “We contacted Simon at the same time- it distorted our dialogue with him, like our speech does when we try to speak together, it doesn’t hurt us.”

Hank glares suspiciously at them. 

"We're fine, Hank."

"Yeah?" Gavin tapped his foot. "You keep saying that. Trying to convince us, or yourselves?"

 _Them_ , right? Was the obvious thought. No matter how many times they said they were fine, Hank and Reed insisted on repeating the same question. Insanity, really. But-

"All our core functions are operating. We are together, and we are alive. Is that not 'fine'?"

“Alright Nines,” Hank shakes his head, “can’t speak English. _Even_ if it’s really not critical, Simon wants you two to head back to the tower when I’m done working. And I also got him to forward Fowler your doctor's notes.”

"V-f-e-i-r-n-y-e well." 

"What?" Hank squints.

They sigh, and Nines lets Connor lead their dialogue. "Thank you, Hank. We‘ll wait in..." The waiting room or the bullpen? Part of them hoped to escape the constant pestering, but another part still balked at the distance from Hank- and Gavin- that would result from the first option. 

They are brought out of their thoughts by a firm hand on their arm. "You two idiots can sit with me." Hank's expression, although kind, gives little option to refuse. Chance of success: 23%. "I’m down a partner, so until Jeffrey sorts it out I’m in the bullpen all day anyway.”

They glimpse back at Gavin, who takes his coffee and steps away from the table, passing them by with a mumbled, “later.” Watching him go, Nines feels— 

Hank gently pulls them from the break room, into the hustle and bustle of the bullpen. They sit down in the chair in front of the lieutenant’s desk, settling in for the remainder of his work day. Meanwhile, Hank grumbles about his paperwork, and the occasional rookie officer. They listen to it all with a sense of unfamiliar familiarity.

It is comforting all the same- offering a sense of regularity between Connor's continually fumbled calibrations and Nines' intermittent looks to the opposite side of the bullpen.

At one point, they close their eyes, sinking into the feeling, allowing the noise of their surroundings to melt into the hum of their twin processors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art is posted [here](https://sta.sh/044c6b5gt6h)!


	4. Interpretation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Nines arrive home, only to realize some of the consequences of having two people in the same body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Reading [How Slowly We Learn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577827) before this will probably provide much helpful context. But it shouldn't be 100% necessary!

It turned out that Simon had received a request to connect from both Connor and Nines, but he only accepted the one to Nines- as the body had originally belonged to him. Despite that, both connections went through- Simon's system seemed unable to discern that they had two processors now. A bit of trouble-shooting and a _lot_ of calls later allowed them to connect to Simon without causing data corruption.

And when they were finally let go from their ‘check-up’, their father took them home, pushing the door open with a huff.  
  
“Fuck, today was long.” Hank groused as they stepped in, removing their shoes. Their home has that unfamiliar familiar sense creeping through their shared systems again, lingering in the back of their minds. Sumo barked a hello from the corner of the room.

“Hello to you too, Sumo.” They greet, but then frown at their options.

 **⊳ Tend to Garden** **⊳ Meditate in Connor’s Garden**

 **⊳ Find a Recipe to cook for Hank** **⊳ Finish Reading**

 **⊳ Check in with North** **⊳ Reorganize the House**

 **⊳ Pet Sumo** **⊳ Access Happy_Place**

Nines cannot completely feel his embarrassment at the name of his personally constructed art program, when his brother’s fondness clashes against it. 

_You named it your happy place?_

Months ago, after being introduced to both Carl Manfred and the act of painting, Nines had re-purposed another program of his, making it into a digital studio that he could access like Connor once did the Zen Garden, but Nines was the only handler to speak of. He found it far less messy than paint, and he could express himself in ways that colour on a canvas alone would never be able to convey.

_It was a placeholder I intended to change._

Connor’s sudden energy is making their facial expression struggle to stay flat as his brother’s thought becomes clear between them both, _you’ve been telling yourself that for months- it hasn’t changed._

_I haven’t found anything better._

_I think it’s cute._

Nines steps out of the front area into the living room proper, as they had been standing in the same spot for longer than average and- _though Hank was facing away from them_ \- did not want the man worrying further about their unique circumstance.

That, and he wants his brother to drop their previous line of conversation. 

“How have you been today, Sumo?” They kneel down to the Saint Bernard as they ask, the dog looking at them expectantly, but offering no dialogue himself.

With their right arm, they reach over and scratch him behind the ears, and that has Sumo reacting with a bit more enthusiasm, pushing his head into their hand. 

Nines usually only greeted Sumo with a few obligatory pets here and there, while Connor would go so far as to use the dog as a blanket to cuddle with as he lay in bed some nights. Like this, together, Nines has no qualms about using both hands to ruffle Sumo’s fur, as the dog stands up, padding from foot to foot.

Hank comes back into the living room with a glass of water. They turn their head slightly to see what he’s up to, when unexpectedly- Sumo licked a long, wet stripe up the side of their face. And when they looked back, Connor intending to admonish Sumo, he did it again- catching their nose before they backed off.

Never before had Nines had Sumo’s slobber- _or any dog’s slobber_ \- touch him before. He didn’t know what exactly to feel about it. But he certainly knew how his brother felt about it.

This was far from the first time, and Connor had somehow made it a bit of a game with the St. Bernard. At least, sometimes. Other times, he simply let the dog lick away, giggling as the texture of Sumo’s tongue wreaked havoc upon his level of cleanliness.

It was then, as his mind intertwined with Connor’s thoughts, that he too was willing to join his brother in toying with Sumo further- when a laughter interrupted them.

“Man, I should’ve had my camera out,” Hank chuckled. “The face you just made- Sumo didn’t short you out, did he?”

“No.” They respond, a slight ripple of frustration between them as Hank is still asking if they’re okay, even though it's more joking this time, “Nines has never been licked by Sumo before.” Wiping a hand across their drying face, Nines does wonder about cleaning their face before the slobber solidified. Connor quietly agreed. 

“Shit, really?” Hank mulls it over, “Makes sense though, not really the type to get messy.”

“We should actually wash our face.” They stand, and Hank mumbled something as they walk away.

It’s quick to clean themselves. As the last of the viscous substance goes down the drain, their options flickered in their HUD once more- just as numerous as they were earlier, though **⊳ Pet Sumo** faded away as it was replaced with **⊳ Join Hank**.

They face the same problem they had with choosing their visitors passes- _One or two, if one, who? They can’t decide -_ Now, their internal dialogue shifts from one thought to the next. Dissolving , reforming, as they _try_ to prioritize- 

_I don't need to meditate_ _every day_ _,_ Nines let the option vanish, _tending to your garden is more important- but you use that time to settle yourself-_ _Connor insisted,_ and the choice reappeared. 

_I- We can make something simple for dinner, there's no need to- you enjoy it, trying new things, you might as well…_

_Reading can be saved for later- but you've been burning to finish that book-_ that particular option fizzed in and out of view, so they tried to skip it for now- 

_Is there anything you need to take care of with North? If it's important- no, no, it can wait, after everything that's happened. It's more personal than business-related- I'm sure she_ _’d_ _want to check on you as well-_

"Hey, uh," a hand fell on their arm, "You two have been giving the sink a death glare for a few minutes, now. What’s up?"

They blink slowly, panning their head towards Hank. "Prioritization…" they manage to say, despite their inner thoughts still in disarray, "...is difficult. There are… a few different things we want to do."

Their father pulls his head back, grimacing. "Shit, right. Can’t imagine that being easy, being uh, stuck to one body.” He runs a hand through his beard. “Especially when you two don’t really do the same things.”

They hum in agreement, looking away and closing their eyes. 

“Though,” Hank wonders, and it catches their attention, "Aren’t both of you usually in the garden by now?" 

"Yes," they sigh, "but we do not do the same thing there, either. We just need a few more moments to..."

Their thoughts continued to war with each other, until Nines’ insistence that his brother’s garden needed tending to more than he needed to spend time doing ‘nothing’ finally won out, that their unbalanced thoughts finally came together again. Priorities were assigned, and the options listed themselves in their HUD accordingly:

 **⊳ Tend to** **The** **Garden**

 **⊳ Cook** **Dinner**

**⊳ Join Hank**

**⊳ Check in with North**

**⊳ Access Happy_Place**

**SECONDARY TASKS**

**⊳ Find a new recipe**

**⊳ Reorganize the House**

**⊳ Finish Reading**

They frowned- Connor disapproved of the low priority placed on Nines’ tasks in comparison to Connor’s- but Nines reasoned that now that their options were organized, they would be more productive doing them. That it would be better than standing around and accomplishing none of them.

Hank's hand is still on their arm, they realize. He’s watching them with a considering expression as their LED cycles back to blue. "Alright now?"

"Yes, we're- we're good, we've decided what to do." They push themselves away from the counter, letting Hank's light grip fall away. “We’re going to tend to my- Connor’s garden, first. Nines is alright helping Connor make dinner, too.” Hank makes a sound of disbelief as they pivot on their heel to head to the garage, where Connor keeps the gardening tools. They barely move a few feet before Hank grabs their arm again. "Hey, wait a sec! I don't need both of you to- you two almost _died_ the other day, I can cook for myself for once!” They turn back to their father and fold their arms. Hank raises his hands in a surrendering gesture, “I _p_ _romise_ it'll be healthy… _-er_ than what I get at Chicken Feed."

They wavered, looking nowhere in particular as they weighed this new option. Connor genuinely enjoyed cooking, but there was so much to do…

“I never asked Connor to cook for me, and I know he says he likes doing it, but dragging you- er, Nines?” Hank shakes his head, “Taking a break while Jericho figures out how to help you two won’t kill me, okay?”

A sigh, and then they slump slightly. "That's… Okay. For today, at least," so they dismiss 'Cook Dinner' and 'Find a new recipe' from their tasks. 

Without another word, they slip away into the garage. 

It’s not a messy place, but it’s not quite clean either. Age clings to the cool space no matter how meticulously Nines adjusted the boxes and dusted the shelves.

Connor’s apron and tools are just slightly out of place- from when he’d last checked his garden. They didn’t come home before Nines could return the apron to its hook and the tools into their box.

Putting the apron on, and taking what tools they need, they head into the garden. Connor’s thoughts take more prominence as he considers how much each of the plants have grown since he’d last checked them, how much water each of them need, and if any of them require trimming before they disturbed other plants in the garden.

After the plants were all watered, Connor began to cut away too-wayward branches and stems. Nines’ thoughts continued on in a sort of ‘background’, as he ran calculations and made notes of what they were both seeing.

Moving away from a raspberry bush, they both freeze up. 

It was cut a little more than Connor liked. Not quite ‘perfect’, but compared to the rest of the garden it now seemed- out of place. 

_Sorry Connor_ _I'm sorry I didn't mean to_ _-_

Their systems flood with such intense guilt that they find themselves kneeling on the stone pathway, feeling almost lightheaded from it.

 _It's fine!_ _It’ll grow back with time. D_ _on't worry about it, it'_ _ll be okay-_

As the initial tide recedes, Connor’s reassurance comes through more clearly. They breathe deeply, slowly recovering their stability. And when they feel like they're relatively in one piece again, they pick up the shears once more and stand, looking around. 

The scan tells them exactly the same information that they received a few minutes ago. Most of the garden still retained the not-quite-wild look Connor had curated- the inadvertent meticulousness only affected the poor raspberry bush.

They supposed they were done by now. Sure, there were a few plants left that they hadn’t trimmed, but a few days of overgrowth wouldn’t harm any of the other plantlife. Watering was more important, and that was already done.

With a soft sigh, they recollected Connor's tools and returned them to the garage- Nines automatically placing the items where they belong. They shed out of the gardening apron, hanging it on the nail Hank had hammered into the wall, before peeling off their shoes and stepping back inside. 

The low sounds of the TV greeted them, along with the occasional clink of metal against porcelain. 

They padded over to where Hank was sitting on the sofa, cradling a bowl of pasta in his hands as he was… not really watching the TV. 

"Hey Connor, hey Nines," he mumbled, noticing them approach. 

"Hello, Hank," they respond, before making their way around the back of the sofa and allowing themselves to fall into the cushions, the furniture making a _floomf_ at their impact.

Connor can't help but scan the pasta. Very high in carbohydrates and low in protein. But not terrible, he supposed. 

"Quit scanning my dinner, Connor." Hank scowls with no heat.

"Sorry, Hank," they say, not sorry at all. 

He gives them a withering look before stabbing a rotini with far more force than strictly necessary. 

A few minutes pass in silence as Hank continues to make his best attempt at murdering the twists populating his bowl. Nines is usually not present during these moods, so he trusts Connor’s memories that waiting for their father to speak himself was the best option.

"Your case got assigned to Evans." He says, suddenly.

It barely takes a few seconds to cross-reference their memories and… ah, yes. Detective Liam Evans. He’d come to DCPD after the revolution, as the station became short staffed from officers not returning from wherever they had fled. The man was unpleasant, but he cooperated with other androids around the station.

"He doesn't give a shit about androids. What the hell was Jeffrey thinking?” Hank shakes his head, angry, “He's just gonna let the case go to ice- and he won't even care, even though you both-" he cuts himself off, mouth twisting in something like pain. 

"Hank-" Connor attempts to ask how Hank would know that, if- _like Gavin_ \- he and Evans had history. But their father cuts them off.

"I know there's the fucking… _conflict of interest_ … but he could've picked literally _anyone_ else, _goddamnit_ Jeff."

" _Hank_." They reach forward with their right arm, placing it on his shoulder. "Just because he's not…" they pause, considering their wording, " _forward_ about any partiality to androids, it doesn't mean that he won't do his job. Captain Fowler must have his reasons."

He scoffs, eyes gravitating to the TV, even though he was clearly not watching what the people on screen were doing.

_We should-_

They press forward, wrapping their arms around him in a sideways embrace, even as Nines was careful not to dislodge Hank's hold on his bowl. They lay their head on his shoulder, facing the TV as well. 

Hank stiffens slightly, clearly not expecting the action, before he lifts his right arm and clasps their forearm where it's crossed over his chest. A few seconds pass before he speaks again. "I don't want to risk those bastards getting away. I don't want- they can't get away with what they did." 

"It'll be okay, Hank," they reassured. 

The lieutenant takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe. He extricates himself slightly, leaning away and putting his empty bowl on the side table- before he turns back around and wraps his arms around them as well. 

"I should be telling you that," he whispers. 

Something in their shared processors flickers. "We're fine, Hank. The danger is over, the threat is gone. We're safe."

His grip tightens on them, and he gives an almost frustrated exhale. "It's perfectly normal if you're _not_ okay- you know that, right? You don't have to pretend you're fine, there's nothing normal about almost _dying_ or, or- look at you two! It was so bad that both of you- _normally,_ walking away in one piece is good, but this is - this is a little _too_ literal, isn't it?"

_If they repaired Nines, and he left for help, Connor would die._

_If they repaired Connor, and he left for help, Nines would die._

Their grip twitches, and they pull away, Hank's arms slipping from around their back to their forearms. "We're fine," they say, _again_ , like they haven't said it enough already, before standing up. 

Hank opens his mouth to say more, but closes it again as his eyes shut, looking strangely sad. He still doesn't believe them, then. 

"What are… you two still got other things to catch up on today?”

That makes them blink, their incomplete tasks returning to their display. 

**⊳ Check in with North**

**⊳ Access Happy_Place**

**SECONDARY TASKS**

**⊳ Reorganize the House**

**⊳ Finish Reading**

"Connor wants to check in with North," they say, "And then we'll be going into Nines's art program for a bit, probably once you're asleep. We might also do some reorganization and reading."

"Right." Hank straightens, “You and her click better than with Markus, don’t you Connor? Has she asked to see how you two are doing?”

“Not yet, but- we did have that communication error earlier. She may have tried.” Their LED cycles yellow as they check the news, “Markus might also be keeping her busy with politics.”

“Think she’s busy now?”

“She should be free.”

A bit unsure, Hank lightly pats the space beside him on the couch. "Want to call her here? If it's all the same to you…"

They tilt their head for a moment, before nodding and sliding in next to Hank once more, a foot away from him- but it seems he wasn't having any of that, using one arm to pull them close, and the other to card his fingers through their hair. 

Their vocal module releases a surprised burst of static. 

"You two do this sometimes, right?"

They hum in assent, closing their eyes. Connor was the more frequent instigator of the action, but Nines had taken to running his fingers across his brother's soft locks a few times, too. 

It was… nice.

A tension they didn't realize they had seemed to bleed away as they allowed themselves to be maneuvered into laying their head on their father's lap, indulging in the sensations. 

"It's like you're a big cat or something…" A chuckle. Connor had said something similar about Nines, when he'd gone boneless the first time Connor tried it. 

**⊳ Check in with North** flickered in their minds' eye, and they almost regretfully pulled their focus back onto their task. 

**REQUESTING CONNECTION TO WR400 #641 790 831…**

**RK800 #313 248 317 - 52 | RK900 #313 248 317 - 87 CONNECTED.**

⊳ North? ⊳ Hello.

 _⊳ Connor!_ A sigh of relief trails through the connection. _Should you two be connecting to others? Thought you had an issue with Simon earlier today._

⊳ Simon patched it with us as best as we could. ⊳ After work, we had it patched.

⊳ _Okay. Has that been the only issue so far? I’m sure everyone’s been treating you two like glass, but I haven’t even seen you in person._

⊳ We’re fine, North. ⊳ We're alright. 

⊳ Connor just wanted to check in with you.

⊳ _Just to check in? I know danger comes with your job, but normally being that close to death traumatizes_ both _humans and androids_.

Blunt as usual. But their mild irritation almost immediately vanished with the feeling of fingers lightly brushing through their hair. 

⊳ _Do I need to come over there?_

⊳ North, no. ⊳ That’s unnecessary.

⊳ We’re managing. ⊳ We are leaving it for later.

⊳ Our emotions are… more difficult to pinpoint the owner of, like this.

⊳ _Fuck, I bet._ North mentally sighed. _Look, I’ve been really busy the last day or so, and I’d really like to talk in person, so either I’m coming over there, or you’re coming to Jericho- Simon and his ‘stay at home’ crap be damned._

⊳ Then we’ll stop by tomorrow-

They pause for a moment, knowing Hank would like it just as much as Simon would. That is to say, he wouldn't.

⊳ -after we ease Hank to the idea.

⊳ Thank you.

⊳ See you later, North. ⊳We’ll see you tomorrow, then.

**CONNECTION END**

Their eyelids flicker open, as they shift in their position half on the couch and half on Hank. The hand in their hair pauses its movement as their father takes notice. He offers them a slight smile. "She glad to hear from you two? Pretty short chat.”

They give another hum as Hank threads his hand back through their hair, “North wants to see us in person tomorrow. At Jericho.” 

The hand stops, and a frown overshadows Hank’s features. “Didn’t Simon-”

“She specifically said, ‘ _Simon and his ‘stay at home’ crap be damned'."_ They explained as they sat up. They'd held Hank hostage long enough.

“Fuckin’ hell- you can do voices too, Nines?” He rolls his eyes, as Nines makes a note about it for later, “How early in the morning then? Can I drop you off before work, and pick you up at lunch?”

“North will be busy by then. We’ll probably leave around four in the morning, and then we can be at the precinct when you arrive yourself.”

“I just,” Hank sighs, “God, I don’t wanna leave you two alone until Simon’s got a fix for you two- what if something happens because I let you go? But,” he shakes his head, “I don’t wanna hold you two hostage either.”

They try to think of something that would ease him. “Well,” They begin, “we weren’t planning on walking that distance. The taxi service will stop in front of the house, and then in front of Jericho. We won’t be outside for more than a few seconds.” They refrain from mentioning that a few seconds is all it takes.

So does Hank.

“If you’re alright with that, I- Nines would like to finish the last few chapters of his book.”

“I’m _not_ alright with it. But as long as you two stay outta trouble, I can’t do shit.” Hank raised his hands in surrender, not wanting to decide for them this time. “Not gonna wake up at four in the morning to stop you anyways.”

They let out a soft huff of air, and then stand, their gaze falls to the coffee table, and an instinct has them reaching for Hank's empty bowl- 

"I can clean up after myself, don't worry about it." He shoos their hand away.

While they knew Hank was perfectly capable of doing so, they suspected he would allow the contents to completely dry before getting around to washing it. That would be inefficient. 

They take the bowl. "We'll put it in the sink, at least." 

Their father gives them a long-suffering sigh. 

Once they've filled the bowl with enough water to soak all of the residue, they find themselves scanning the kitchen. 

The salt, pepper, olive oil, pasta boxes, and a few other things were out of place. Connor lets Nines take the lead as he becomes absorbed in one of his secondary tasks, meticulously rearranging the items back into their proper place. 

Closing an organized cupboard, they hear a shuffling behind them, and see that Hank has joined them, rolling up his sleeves with a sigh. "Might as well do the dishes now so you don't have to come back and rearrange everything too soon." 

They step aside to give Hank access to the sink, and he begins washing the pots, utensils, and dishes within it. Nines is sure to put them in the proper places once Hank dries them off. 

Between the three of them, they quickly finish tidying everything in the kitchen. Connor and Nines hum thoughtfully as Hank steps back, eyeing them. 

"I'm probably gonna hit the hay soon. You two, uh…" He grimaces. "Know where you’ll sleep? Since you have different rooms and all."

Their LED flickers. They'd… forgotten about that. "We… hm."

 _Connor’s room or Nines’ room?_ They lean against the counter slightly, frowning as they struggle with their thoughts once more. _Nines didn't mind if they-_

His brother’s reproach filters into their systems. _You always say you never mind anything._

It was nevertheless true. If it became inconvenient to care, then he just cared less. _Is_ _that so hard to grasp?_

_You can't just-_

_I can, and I do._

They are both frustrated. 

" -lright?" They meet Hank's eyes though their fingers. "Hey, uh… how about you two switch every night- maybe for today you can read in Nines's room and then sleep in Connor's?"

That was reasonable. They give a tired sigh with a muted smile. "Sounds good. We'll… do that." 

They step away, making their way towards Nines's room. "Good night, Hank."

"Night, Connor. Night, Nines," he calls out softly. 

* * *

They lock the screen of Nines’ tablet, closing their eyes. 

An interesting ending. In a way, cathartic. 

Reading together was… curious. Connor's mind seemed to run a mile a minute, countless thoughts and half-formed theories regarding the story and characters edging at their minds, while Nines seemed to prefer immersing himself entirely in the singular, immediate present of the words on the screen. Together, they were not unlike a storm. Nines where the eye was calm- seeing the data but letting it pass him by, while Connor was the rest of the storm- all of the information that cascaded this way and that.

They sit up, pushing their legs off the side of Nines's bed and placing the tablet on the bedside table. Now that they finished reading, both of them felt eager to lie down and enter Nines’ art program for the night.

To Connor's room, then- they stumble slightly, as Nines turns them around and straightens the bedsheets before they go. Connor's amusement makes the corners of their mouth twitch upwards. 

_Tidy surroundings confer a tidy mind,_ Nines defends. 

_Of course_ , Connor agrees. _It's very you._

The fondness that slips between their processors is almost dizzying. 

They wonder, briefly, if they have the capacity to feel emotions twice as intensely now.

Brushing aside the thought, they push through Nines's door, making their way into Connor's adjacent room. They made a beeline for the bed- _haphazardly made, Nines couldn't help but note_ \- and flopped onto the sheets emphatically, face landing in the plush pillow. 

Good thing they didn't need to breathe. 

But it _was_ helpful for minor cooling of their systems, so they flip over and face the ceiling, pulling a blanket over themselves. 

_Finally_ , they close their eyes, and:

 **HAPPY_PLACE INITIALIZING…**

As they enter the digital space, the program brings with it an odd latency in their processors. 

They- Nines shakes his head, disoriented-

-Connor blinks at his surroundings, suddenly feeling imbalanced.

When the world settles, they realize that they are _two_ , here. Their thoughts echo across their processors like an insidious lag: the confusion, the sudden gap. And then, seeing each other, and then seeing themselves in their reflected minds.

Neither knows who decided to move first, but they reach for each other, the space feeling just as real as the world beyond- arms curling in a desperate embrace around the warm, whole, and _living_ form of their brother.

"I'm so glad you're alright," they think Connor says, but both of their mouths move, "I'm so glad-" Connor repeats, breaking off into a choked sob of relief.

Nines presses his face into the curls of Connor's hair, fingers gripping tightly at his back. He gives a shaky breath despite needing it even less in this space, "I was so afraid when I disconnected your processor, for a moment I thought you wouldn’t- that I’d-” Instead of words, half-formed pre-constructions show Nines heading to the precinct alone, and others still- not finding Nines’ ability in the first place, where he gives Connor his parts as his brother couldn’t deny him. Tears streak both their faces.

The stark relief, the desperate closeness, the boundless, endless love made sharper by the fear of its loss- it is fluid between them, melting their boundaries. Edges blur, forms bleed into each other-

They are two, they fall into each other, and then they are one again.

They are content, they are safe. This- it feels _right_. 

Together, they open their eyes. 

One of them goes to wipe the tears still damp on their face, while the other goes to wrap their arms around themselves. When both actions occur at the same time without a conflict in movement, they bring the- rest?- of their hands up.

They watch their right hand specifically, observing the chromatic aberrations in their hand before it resolved back into a solid form. 

A curious manifestation of their dichotomy.

The program had changed quite a bit since Nines’ had initially created it. Once, it had been based purely upon the plants in Connor’s garden- the orientation and grouping altered somewhat as Nines was not restricted to a backyard like his brother was. He’d placed it on more of a hill, letting a forest stretch to the horizon.

But now, the central area where Nines did most of his work- _his ‘studio’, he supposed_ \- was an island.

They’re standing on a circular stone pavement, the most central point, where more step-stone paths that closely mimicked the stones from Connor’s garden led the way to other sections of the island, including the beach.

Choosing one, they pick their way down the path, observing Nines’ scattered artworks with the strange newness of their shared interpretations, before pausing in a relatively empty area. A small clearing in the wilderness, where they could just barely hear the nearby river flowing into the ocean.

Nines lifts their left hand, and they close their eyes as he sinks into the familiar-unfamiliarity of his focus converging, concentrating.

The emotions that he rarely manifested outwardly, the emotions that he frequently referred to as inconveniences that he has so little time to indulge in- here, he allows all of them to wash over his processors.

His thoughts first start before the attack. The peacefulness of the scene before them, the lines Nines draws from his hand flowing from one point to the next until the sharp suddenness of the EMP. The confusion, the disorientation, the lag- something else catches against his thoughts- which makes him freeze up.

 _Is that you?_ Nines wonders, trying to tug at the thought, but it’s gone as soon as he tries.

 _I don’t know._ Connor answers, and Nines feels his uncertainty.

Nines moves to the other side of the path, leaving the unfinished piece. He closes his eyes again, skipping the portion where that unknown thought disturbed the both of them.

_Don’t bring attention to your good arm- get a clear image of the attacker's face-_

_A knife in his hand- his left?- no, his right-_

_“Maybe you can join him-” Nines was no Markus-_

Something unknown brushes over their mind again and again, each time leaving Nines a bit more frustrated as he tries to skip over it, leaving more and more unfinished works behind him.

_Nines, maybe we should-_

_THIRIUM LOSS_

_SHUTDOWN 00:05:04_

_There was a chance. They could both survive, neither of them needed to d-_

This time, the form simply shatters in their hands. They fall to their knees, incomplete, chaotic works surrounding them in the clearing. The crisp, measured lines typical to Nines's pieces have bled into wilder, more uncontrolled forms. Nines can't seem to resolve his thoughts, as they bleed and mix into Connor's. 

The small breeze on the island picks up as Nines' frustration with his inability, inefficiency, and inadequacy grows. It clashes against Connor's guilt and the balm of his reassurance. They flicker as Nines tugs at his hair, and Connor hugs their form, trying to be comforting.

They are suddenly thrown back into reality, then, when Nines abruptly closes the program. 

Nines wants nothing more than to curl in bed and let stasis take them for the night, but the moment Connor has his bearings, he calls out: "Sumo! Here boy!" 

A bark comes from down the hall, like he’d been waiting just outside the door, and then the behemoth of a dog pushed his way through it. "C'mere," Connor patted the bed in clear invitation, and Sumo wasted no time in clambering onto the sheets, laying his head on their lap.

They thread their fingers through the substantial fur, and, ever so slowly, let the tension bleed from their processors. 

They sigh softly, closing their eyes. "We're okay," they murmur, laying back. "We'll be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auspice: I love chromatic aberration a lot, okay. The animation is posted on dA [here](https://sta.sh/0jdh0gopeug)!
> 
> Deviark: My favorite thing here is Nines' Happy_Place :3c - I'd go there myself if it was, y'know, a real place....


	5. Inadequate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiar faces in an unfamiliar situation. 
> 
> Underlying emotions come to light.

Jericho’s main building was a few minutes away from the Tower, and ownership was shared between the android government, as well as rALight- a non-profit organization for both humans and androids to volunteer their time to helping androids with getting housing, training outside their programming, and anything else to help them adjust to the changing landscape of society. Which meant more people in the same building.

Androids and humans usually looked away from Nines after catching sight of his cold eyes, but now, the stark heterochromia had people more openly staring. Running as quick of a scan as they could, they stopped on one particular pair of eyes, where North was waiting by the elevator. 

Nines raised their eyebrows as he noticed Ripple waiting beside North.

“There they are.” North said in their earshot and waved, which they returned as they got closer.

“Hello,” The looked to Ripple, “I-We did not know you would be here.”

She smiled, “I was bringing a new closet for people who still just have their old uniforms- the other night North told me you’d be coming here- I just wanted to see you.” Ripple’s eyes focus on their brown eye before flicking back, “I guess Jericho doesn’t have spare parts for you and Connor.”

North crosses her arms, “yeah, well, CyberLife was just _so happy_ to hand over the keys to the tower. Can we head up to my office? I’d like some _privacy!”_ As she pitches her voice up, Connor and Nines notice other people nearby scurry back to work. Ripple snorts.

“When you’re done talking with North- you guys can come see me at my studio? No pressure.” Ripple gave a small nod before she, too, went on her way.

 _We’ll go see her._ Connor thought as they entered the elevator to head up to North’s office.

_Are you sure?_

_Yes. You know she’s worried for you._

_You too,_ Nines thought back, and one- both of?- someone added, ‘ _it would hurt Nines if Connor were hurt- so Ripple had to be concerned for Connor too, at least that much_.’

“Here we are: Office, boring, office.” North said in a mocking tone of ‘Home, Sweet, Home,’ as the lights came on and the door shut behind them.

There was a standard desk, chair, and a computer- but they wondered how often North even used it. Connor had been here a handful of times, and there always seemed to be a thin layer of dust over it. With how often Markus and North tended to be elsewhere in the US, though, running interviews and campaigns- it was no wonder why, really.

North sat on the desk, “ _Please_ tell me the media was just exaggerating when they said you two went down immediately?”

“They were not.”

“Fuck.” She rubbed the space between her brows, as though she were fighting off a headache. “This fucking sucks. You two are the most advanced androids CyberLife churned out and a _possibly_ -homebrew EMP knocked you guys off balance? Markus is gunna have no clue what to tell older androids when someone just needs to bring one to a meeting of his and set it off.” 

Her anger is palpable, and Connor scrambles for something to say, “I know. We can’t exactly tell everyone to stay in a Faraday cage, or we’d re-establish android segregation.”

“Yeah, and the last thing we need is the androids who refuse to stay away being put in more danger. But we might just end up staying home until we can get the government to crack down on this."

Connor frowns. "A curfew as opposed to complete isolation may be better, though. For something that can do so much damage to us, it's hard to tell if someone is in possession of one until they actually use it."

"Perhaps," Nines takes the lead on the dialogue, "We could look into modifications or wearable shielding that could offer some degree of insulation. It would likely be insufficient to block an attack entirely, but…" 

North gives a frustrated sigh, looking away. "Maybe. I'll ask our tech folks about it. CyberLife had to have made something for the military models- or using us as soldiers would’ve been fucking stupid." She hops off of the desk, scuffing her boots along the ground.

Enough time passes for the pause to be considered an "awkward silence." 

“So-", Connor breaks it, "everyone keeps asking _us,_ but I was wondering - how have _you_ been lately, North?” Connor wonders, curious when North crosses her arms and looks away. Nines puts their left arm behind his back while Connor made an unsure, aborted reach for her.

“Like _shit_.” She spat, but any venom was swallowed by sorrow. North still won’t meet their eyes, but they can see hers turning glassy, “We all thought you were _dead,_ Connor.” 

They freeze up as North continues, “Nobody fucking knew, but Nines comes into the hospital with your fucking parts- I-” She finally looks at them, and it’s only more painful when she says, “I thought _you_ killed him, Nines. That you,” her burning eyes lock onto Nines' own icy one, "killed him as a _mercy-_ " 

“I’d rather _I_ died.” Nines cuts North off as a raw, uncontrollable pain floods their processors. Nines's vehemence wars against Connor's own emotions, a storm of indeterminable anguish clawing at their minds. Nines pushes on, “I would have dismantled myself so Connor could have lived.”

“That doesn’t tell my past self anything! _I grieved for you_ , Markus, Simon, Josh- _we all did!_ Even when we found you had Connor’s brain we didn’t dare hope that you were okay.” She uncrosses her arms, but then seems unsure of what to do with them.

“Can- can I hug you guys? I’m just- I’m so happy that there’s at least _some_ fucking hope you two can get back to normal but I can’t wait for that.” She rushes through the request, and they take a step forward- but freeze up again.

_She doesn’t want me here._

_North is just being polite._ But the smallest uncertainty in Connor’s line of thought makes Nines certain in his deduction.

But since Connor did want to comfort his friend, that’s what allowed Nines to lean forward and pull North into an embrace.

“Fuck, you’re bulkier than he is.” North huffs as she wraps her arms around their back, “Sorry if you’re uncomfortable, Nines.”

“I am alright.” He decides, “I am sorry you believed Connor died, I thought the same until we rebooted as… this.”

They adjust their voice, for once, and in Connor’s voice, he says, “I’m glad to see you again.”

That just makes North sob anew, and they both hold her until she calms again.

Eventually, her grip loosens, and she pulls back. "Nines, you wanted to see Ripple, right?" 

They nod. "We aren't in any hurry to do so. We wouldn't mind if there's more you want to talk about." They tilt their head as a wry smile finds itself on their face. "It's not as though we have much to do right now, since we're forbidden from working."

"Right," North mirrors their expression. "We can talk more later, if you want. But I won't be keeping you. I know Nines is closer to Ripple than me, and I think I've hogged you both long enough."

Nines can't help but perceive this as dismissal, and he steps back-only to twitch almost violently as Connor's denial runs through their processors. 

They close their eyes for a moment, faced with the dizzying sensation of emotional disagreement.

"Hey! What was that?"

North's voice pulls them out of their reverie. They open their eyes to see her in front of them, hand hovering over their right arm. _She's uncomfortable with touching Nines- she's just being considerate-_ "It’s nothing," they say. "Just a temporary processor overflow." 

Their statement earns them a suspicious squint. 

They sigh. "We'll go see Ripple. See you later, North." Connor lifts an arm to wave at her as they turn towards the exit. 

North shakes her head before lifting a hand in turn. "Later, Connor, Nines. Take care of yourselves- or at least each other, yeah?"

"We'll do our best," they say, before leaving the room. On this floor, there were less people to openly stare as they made their way to a different elevator that would take them closer to the studio Ripple had here.

Ripple insisted that Nines didn’t need to knock to enter the studio. Sure, sometimes she was carried by an idea or emotion- like Nines could be in his own studio- but she knew Nines wouldn’t disturb her if she was. Connor was unsure, but not enough to stop them from simply walking right into the room.

A cursory sweep of the studio tells Nines that not a whole lot has changed since the last time he was here. A few mannequins with partial designs pinned to them- and a container of pins nearby. Different types of fabrics were organized by types, then their colours. A few racks of clothes held finished outfits, while other hangers had CyberLife uniforms hung on them- Ripple often enjoyed tearing away the branding and making something new out of those outfits.

“Drafting more ideas?” Nines wonders, coming up behind the small desk she used to draw concept works on physical paper. _It's more fun than pre-constructing them, to me,_ she'd said. _It feels more... hands-on, I guess_.

“rALight’s going to have a fundraiser in a few weeks, think you’ll come?” She smiles as she turns around in her seat, pulling her legs under her in something like a kneeling position as she drapes her arms over the back of the chair. Her expression falters, though, as her eyes catch on their brown one.

“Would we count as two attendants? Or would I have to mark Connor as my plus one?” Nines says in an effort to ease both Connor and Ripple. 

Ripple only laughs nervously, though, running a hand through her hair. "I… yeah, hm."

Connor isn't sure what to make of it either, so- endeavor unsuccessful. Nines sighs. “Perhaps another time. Once we're no longer… like this."

Their statement makes Ripple's movements still. "What's it like," she asks, "being together, like that?"

Both Connor and Nines are surprised at her question- no one's actually asked them that outright, yet. "It's…" they lift their hands up. Their two different hands, one Connor's, one Nines's. "It's like… we're in a continuum of thought. Of being." They pull out Connor's coin in a smooth motion, rolling it across the fingers of their right. "Our thoughts might originate from one or the other, but-" They hum. "We might describe them as tidal currents. They might flow alongside each other, or crash into each other like waves- and it can be hard to distinguish who thought what first." They flick the coin to their left, and the motions become more precise, yet less fluid. "We are… never alone in our minds."

Ripple watches their calibration exercises, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Do you think it's like the Jerrys?"

They hadn’t really considered that, but when they do, the answer comes easily, “We don’t think so- exactly. They maintain separate personalities, but, due to their original function, possess an internally linked network to share thoughts almost seamlessly from one body to another. They know where the thought comes from each time, though. We haven’t spoken to a Jerry recently, but we can assume their emotions would also remain distinct from one another."

"Yours don't, then?" Ripple tilts their head at them. 

"Not always. The boundaries are particularly thin for more intense emotions. Like how rapid waters can easily suck people into the current."

Her expression gets more concerned, “W-what if something serious happens? That seems like a disaster waiting to happen.”

They catch the coin in their hand. "We don't know. Maybe one of us will be able to pull the other out, if we can separate our train of thought well enough. Or maybe we'll pull the other down with us, and drown under the torrents of our shared mind."

Ripple pulls a hand down her face. "Nines, do you really have to wax poetic about possibly having a shared panic attack?"

"Sorry," they say, not at all sorry.

She scowls, knowing, and gets up from the chair, “Fine! I just hope you’re- you two are taking it easy?” 

“Simon does not want us working, but we stay in the DCPD for Hank’s company.”

"Sounds fun," her tone is dry, "and you two are just gonna sit there all day?"

They increase their grip on the coin. "Yes. It's better than staying home. Better than-" Being by themselves, they don't say.

"I get it," Ripple says softly. She turns back around in her seat before standing up and making her way to a desk covered in various fabrics, recycled from old CyberLife uniforms. Nines immediately approaches, reaching to help her organize— 

"Hey, it's okay! Just- " Ripple grimaces. "Just because Nines helps me out here, doesn't mean you both have to, like this." 

They pull their hand back as if burned. Suddenly, there's a suffocating feeling in their minds. "Sorry," they're faintly aware of themselves saying. "Sorry, I- we." They shake their head to clear the feeling. "We organized Hank's house earlier, we don't mind sharing tasks. It was- nice."

Ripple is watching them, they realize. But she turns back to the table, starting to gather the similar fabrics together. "If it's not too much trouble, then? An extra pair of hands _would_ really help."

They work in silence for a few minutes, before Ripple says, completely out of the blue, “I hope Connor knows that Echo and I don’t blame him for chasing us.”

They freeze. The feeling from earlier is returning, and Nines is trying to formulate a response. But instead- “Why don’t you?” Connor blurts.

She stares for a few seconds, in disbelief, “You had a clear shot. You didn’t take it.” Ripple takes a step forward, “A machine would’ve taken it, but you didn’t want to.” Another step. “So I forgive you for chasing us down. You couldn’t control that.”

Connor wonders if this is what it feels like when humans say, ‘all the breath was sucked out of my lungs.’ Because this- this is an impossibility. The- the guilt of it. He's lived with it for so long, he nearly killed them- 

_You didn't,_ Nines's thoughts wrap around Connor's, _you didn't, and that's what matters._

And then, "Oh..." a soft exhale. "But..." 

_You did nothing wrong._

Their eyes close, and Connor feels strangely weightless. Lighter, maybe. There's still- something. But it's lighter. "Thank you," he says, and when they open their eyes, Ripple is smiling at them. "Thank you."

* * *

By the time they arrived at the precinct, Hank was caught in a meeting, and Gavin was gone at a crime scene, so they didn’t really have time to chat with their dad until the drive home.

They told Hank about their morning, minus the more… emotional aspects.

“Yeah, I’d be worried too if someone could knock over a crowd at the push of a button. EMP’s are fucking illegal to carry anyways, can’t believe Evans still hasn’t found Zach to at least dangle _that_ over his head.”

"We're sure he'll catch Forest eventually," they reassure. "He isn't _incompetent._ And despite his reservations against our kind, maybe he'll consider the possible damage to humans with life support systems and, as they say, 'get a move on.'"

Hank scoffs, then, tightening his grip on the wheel. They reach over and put a hand on his shoulder.

The ride is quiet, mostly, until they get home. They greeted Sumo as Hank turned the television on, wiping a hand down his face. “You two goin’ out back again?”

“Just for a quick check-up.” They assure, and it is. They’d trimmed most of what was needed the other day, and are much more careful about cleaning up what they missed. Both of them carefully ignored the raspberry bush.

When they come back inside, they lean against the wall separating the living room to the kitchen, wondering aloud, “Will you let us make dinner?”

Hank crosses his arms as he looks over from his spot on the couch, narrowing his eyes at them.

A smile fights its way onto their face, only managing a smirk, “Please, dad?”

The beard covers a lot of Hanks’ face, but they can still register the blush that creeps its way onto their father’s face.

“Alright,” He concedes, standing up, “But only if all of us are cooking.”

So they did. Cleaning and organizing as they cooked, and sitting down with Hank at the kitchen table, holding a glass of cold thirium to busy their hands.

And when ‘bedtime’ arrived, they took the glass with them as Sumo joined them in Nines’ bed, a bit confused since he rarely slept with Nines.

“It’s alright Sumo, come on up.” Enough encouragement got the large dog to join them on the bed that- had- been pristine. And after getting under the covers, they pet Sumo until Nines' thought rippled between them.

_Join me on the Island?_

_But-_ Connor’s concern was washed away by Nines’ assurance. 

_We’re not going there to paint. Not today._

_Okay_. Connor settles. _Let’s go._

They close their eyes.

**HAPPY_PLACE INITIALIZING…**

They're separate, again, when they manifest back on the stonework that marked the central point of the island. Connor goes to seek out Nines’ hand, and knows Nines wants to do the same, but he stops him, and they remain separate. The Island’s light breeze drops.

“Just a moment,” Nines holds one of Connor’s hands in his own, and somehow- by sheer will, they suppose- their bodies stay solid. “Connor, earlier today with Ripple. How long have you kept that to yourself? Had you ever told anyone?”

An immediate reaction- Connor pulls his hand away from Nines and the breeze kicks up, a bit harsher than normal, rustling the simulated trees. “Connor-?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he defends, “It didn’t always bother me, just, if I thought about it- so-” Connor’s looking everywhere but at Nines, looking smaller than Nines ever saw him carry himself. But despite not meeting his eyes, they could both feel the undercurrent of Connor’s emotions, “-ever since I _could_ feel? When I deviated? Maybe even before, but I-”

His brother fidgets with his hands, even as another pair of arms calmly wrapped around him, as Nines stepped into his space. He turns into the grip, absorbing the proximity as he continued, “And besides, you don't have to be so worried about North. I'm pretty sure she's just being careful since she doesn't know if _you_ like _her_. People generally think you're not fond of being touched."

And- well, that _is_ true, if the touch is unexpected or unfamiliar. Nines gives Connor a light squeeze, “I really don’t mind North, she’s alright…” He murmurs. Connor trusts her, and that's enough. "But. Don't try to change the subject." 

Connor pouts, while Nines's face remains impassive. Nines knows him too well. 

"While I'm no therapist," Nines hedges, "Can you talk to _me_ , Connor? I _felt_ what you did in that moment, and it was- it was suffocating. I know you don't- haven’t ever spoken to people about what you went through, but everything you're trying to keep down is going to bubble up at some point." And now, that could affect Nines too. " _Please_ , brother." 

Connor reaches an arm up, running it through Nines’ hair. The motion relaxing the both of them as they feel it through their connection, until eventually, they resolve into one again. He can feel the endless love Nines has for him, he can feel the worry. It stretches between them, blurring their edges. It makes Connor feel- safe, maybe. Like Nines will catch him if he falls. "Okay," he says. "For you." 

And just like that, the wind calms, and they feel better together.

Nines takes them to the beach of the digital island, down to the ocean. Not an ocean that would be found in reality, though- its waves shifted with data, instead of water. They stand there for a few minutes, watching the ocean segment into sinusoidal waves, or shift into glass-like shards. 

"Didn't you free us so we could feel?" Nines asks then. "Why do you try so hard to stop yourself from doing so? I felt that too, the other day."

"I don't know," Connor answers, and it’s honest. They kneel to the pristine, glittering white of digital sand, running a hand through it. It registers as soft. "I don't know, I just…" 

The hand splits into two, one laying on top of the other. The sensation is strange, the contact from both ends reflected in their minds. 

Connor stills his motions. Nines squeezes his hand, encouraging. 

“Don’t you decide that things aren’t worth caring about, and then stop caring? Why can’t I do that?” But the wave of uncertainty that resets the sand says otherwise, Connor speaks a tad louder, as though he can drown out his emotions with his voice. “I'm not some kind of android savior." One set of hands lifts up to press at their face. "People died because I didn’t deviate sooner. I just- I just tried to make things right.”

"Connor…" Nines uses his own set of hands to pry away the ones pressing at their eyes. 

“I can’t- I can’t just _let it out_ -,” His brother whispers. "What if I hurt someone? We’re like this now- what if I hurt you? I don't want- You don’t need my problems.”

" _Connor_ ," Nines says, more insistently. His grip on his brother's hands flickers with chromatic distortions. "You can’t decide how others' emotions will work, all you’re doing is hurting yourself when you have people who care about you, and would like you to be happy.” Nines sighs, “You treat yourself like your own garden, trimming yourself down before you can hurt others."

Connor laughs weakly. "Maybe it's better that way."

"Absolutely _not_." Nines' voice holds no room for argument. "Connor, you're more than your bad experiences. But you can’t keep bottling them up like they never happened. You have to let yourself grow, instead of strangling yourself into silence."

The space around them ripples, clouds beginning to form above the island, as a current of _something_ runs through them. 

"Please, Connor, _brother_." Their hands melt back together, and they hug themselves tightly. "It hurts me to see you like this. To know that you’ve kept this to yourself."

The grip turns painful. “You wouldn’t have known if we weren’t sharing a body,” another tide comes further up the shore, submerging their knees before the data moves back. “No one knew and it was _just_ fine that way- things _stay_ fine-”

“But you’re clearly _not_ happy-”

The anger-pain-fear slices through their processors at the same time as thunder crackles above them. Rain falls and another, higher wave hits the shore, knocking them back. 

“I can’t just turn my pain into art like you!” Connor says over the rising storm, shrinking back mentally as Nines rebukes,

“I don’t just re-create the bad,” He stands, finding shade under a palm tree, that shakes under the stress of the wind. “I use it to process _all_ my emotions. You have your own garden, but you don’t do that, you just take the right measurements while you compartmentalize all your feelings instead!”

 _Shut up!_

Lightning rips across the sky, and something actually _tears_ in the artspace. Suddenly, there was no more thunder, no rain, no wind, no island. It felt like they were falling- or drowning- were they? Code reverberates in their minds, they can't process- 

Connor tries to scream, to cry, to do _something_ _\- anything,_ but they choke on nothing, not even digital air for them to breathe, all their thoughts in incomprehensible fractals.

And then, a pull. Fumbling, unstable, but it's enough for them to straighten some of the wayward, disconnected strings of their thoughts. _Connor-!_

 _Nines, Nines, I don't want this,_ _why couldn’t I have stayed a machine? This is worse than feeling nothing, I’d rather-_

_That's a lie, and you know it._

They open their eyes to an entirely empty space. Zeroes and ones, bits and pieces of scattered data, flicker in the void. An echo of fear races through Nines, but- _no_ , not now.

 _There's nothing wrong with needing help,_ Nines insists. _Humans would likely need therapy for less than half the things you've been through._

 _I'm not human,_ Connor protests weakly. 

_But you’re not a machine, either,_ he tells his brother, as he restores the island. They appear back in the central area once more, sitting cross-legged. “We cannot ease your mind in a day, but does it help? Not being alone with the knowledge?”

Connor’s emotions quiet, and then, a sense of sorrow mixes with gratefulness, “A bit.” His brother concedes, “Thank you.”

They sit there for a bit longer, silent, contemplative. 

"Sorry I yelled at you. And accidentally blew your island to bits." 

_Literally,_ Nines can't help but think, but he manages to stifle his snort. "That's alright," he says. "I pushed. We should… get some rest. I think we've had enough turmoil today, don't you think?"

Connor smiles wryly. "Yeah."

But they remain there, still. They allow their minds to wander, drifting- until the program idles into nothingness, and they slip into stasis easier than the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deviark: Man this chapter was a roller-coaster, will our boys get a break?
> 
> Auspice: perhaps one day :3c  
> Chapter art is posted on dA [here](https://sta.sh/0f6mmrdcx17)!


	6. Initiative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gives us some of Gavin's perspective!
> 
> Also, things might make more sense if you read [Fractal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530084), the story of Nines's journey to deviancy, first.

Gavin usually found it easier to look at the bodies of dead androids rather than dead humans- but this was hitting a bit too close to home.

It was another EMP case. 

The android was banged up and lying on the sidewalk- damaged after the EMP immediately fried her circuits. The thirium from the later damage- _they fucking beat her when she was already dead-_ mixed with the rapidly increasing drizzle, rain re-shaping the blue blood into some kind of morbid bloom. He was having a hard time not imagining Nines- or Connor- lying on the sidewalk instead, so for the most part he hung back, watching for Evans’ car.

"Yo! Gavin!" He looks up, and sees that familiarly unpleasant face jogging up to him. 

"Use my title, dick, we’re on scene.”

Evans shrinks back, but only a little, rolling his eyes, “Alright _Detective_ Reed, whadda we got?”

Gavin lists off the evidence, as well as the victim, being as clinical as possible.

"So it got its brains blown out?" Evans looks around the scene for something, and, appearing to be satisfied, turns to Gavin with a smirk. "So much for that warranty, huh?" 

Gavin’s eyebrow twitches, “Androids don’t- _have_ warranties anymore.” But the comment makes him realize that Evans was checking for _android officers_ before he spoke. A quick glance himself, and- yup- there were none here, which was rare nowadays.

“Oh come on,” Evans tries to nudge him in some semblance of camaraderie, but Gavin backs away, and he drops his arm awkwardly.

“Jesus," Evans huffs, " _Sorry_ , I forgot- were you worried about these guys coming back for your boy toy? _Don't worry_ , they still fuck the same if they break.”

Gavin breathes in through his nose, putting his hands together in front of his mouth, before exhaling slowly. "What," he says, "the fuck."

“It's true, isn’t it? That you’re soft for that partner of yours?” Evans smirked, watching his expression.

“It’s none of your goddamn business, you racist prick.” Gavin shoves Evans back a foot, and he doesn’t retaliate, so he steps further into his space, “So you do your fuckin’ job and find these asshats illegally making EMPs and setting them off in public.” He waits for Evans to nod, but he's still unconvinced the Detective is gonna put in any more effort than he already has. “You better.” Gavin adds, shoulder checking him as he storms past to finally leave the scene.

By the time he reaches the precinct, the rainfall has become a downpour, and he’s starting to hear some thunder in the distance. He’s at least calmed down from Evans' bullshit- but it still sets his teeth on edge. 

Less than half a year ago, he would've laughed. He would've fucking _laughed_ at calling them nothing but- but-

He forces himself to breathe deeply, unclenching his fists from where he'd been digging his nails into his palms. At least _he_ never tried to hide how much of a dick he was. _Was._ He's better now, he's _better-_

As he enters the bullpen, he catches sight of Nines and Connor sitting near Hank's desk. One hand fiddling with that coin of Connor's, the other set stiffly over one of their knees. The other leg bounces up and down anxiously- they probably weren't even aware of it. From this angle, he can see their LED flicker between yellow and blue.

They were clearly preoccupied. Antsy. Whatever. Gavin really wants to punch his past self in the face for ever thinking they were just a bunch of mindless machines. 

Catching their eye, he waves for them to come over while he takes his jacket off and hangs it over the back of his chair- water already dripping onto the floor. Connor and Nines took a second before they got up and sat in the chair by Gavin’s desk.

“You two bored?” He wonders. After all, it’s been a week since they were attacked. And even though they look like they’re functioning alright with two brains in one body, Fowler still hasn't let them back on to do desk duty. Probably still hasn’t figured out if he should pay them both or not.

“Simon doesn’t want to clear us for desk duty yet.” They sigh. “Even though we don’t exhibit many issues besides dialogue conflicts every now and then.” 

"Ain't that a fucking shame," Gavin says, not entirely sarcastically.

They hum in agreement, almost absentmindedly. Did they even notice there was any sarcasm at all? They take their coin out yet again, and it rolls across the knuckles of their right hand. Usually, Hank told Connor to cut it out when he played with it, but during the week it's become just more of the precinct's background noise.

"Uh, you in th-"

The windows flash with light, immediately followed by a sharp crack of thunder. Gavin clicks his tongue. That'll be a pain to deal with if it doesn’t die down by the time he heads home. 

When he looks back up at Connor and Nines, he thinks he catches a flicker of red by their temple- but when he looks again, the ring is solid yellow.

“What case were you working on earlier? You came in later than usual.”

“Nothing.” Gavin remarks as he decides against putting his wet shoes on the desk, “Case went to Evans.”

Somehow, they sit straighter, “Another EMP?”

“...Yeah.” Gavin nods.

"What… happened?"

He explains as best he can while avoiding how much of a douche Evans had been. His eyes stay glued to their LED though, which is still completely yellow. It makes _him_ anxious, which probably isn't helping them.

“She didn’t even get a chance…” Their expression falls into something that's clearly _sad._ Despite himself, he's fascinated- Nines would usually have to be overwhelmed by a feeling before it'd show on his face. 

Gavin’s tempted to try pestering Fowler- _again-_ to find another Detective for the case. But, he’d probably say the same thing he did last time, “ _If I have to change the lead of the case until you and Hank are satisfied, that defeats the purpose of keeping bias out._ ”

As if Evans isn't biased.

"At least she didn't suffer," Gavin muttered.

The brothers don't respond, only stiffening as another flash of lightning and thunder cut across the sky.

After a few more seconds of silence, Gavin sighs, standing up. "I’m- gonna grab some coffee." As he walks around his desk, passing by them, he reaches over and lays his hand on their shoulder. 

Only for a moment. He pulls back instantly, not waiting to see their reaction. 

* * *

**RK800 #313 248 317 - 52 | RK900 #313 248 317 - 87**

Connor and Nines watch Reed walk away, their shoulder still feeling the echo of his hand. Even though Gavin has remained amicable since they first called Simon, he never laid a hand on them before- always aborting at the last second. 

They feel… conflicted. That’s been common, but their emotions surrounding Gavin are uniquely different. Most of the people they both consider to be familiar register as platonic, and either positive or neutral. Gavin's relationship with Connor could be best described as _tense,_ teetering on formality only with a few exchanged jabs. The detective's relationship with Nines, on the other hand, was _warm-_ a crush harbored quietly, unspoken, unrealized. Yet known to be reciprocated all the same.

Another flash disrupts their thoughts, a deafening crack ripping through their audio processors. Their HUD bursts with fragments of memory files, echoes of gunshots, of a head hitting a table again and _again-_

 _We're okay, we're okay._ Nines manually pulls up the sensation of petting Sumo for Connor.

While it _is_ soothing, it isn’t much. He feels a sense of uneasiness echo through them, a thread worming its way into-

Connor _reels,_ realizing what Nines is doing. Tracing the path of his memories. 

_Nines, I don't need-_

The thunder is louder this time, and with it- the precinct goes dark.

_“Wat̵c̸h o̸ut̷!̵”_

The sound rings in his head, a gunshot- thunder- gun-

_He can’t move he can’t move- there’s no input- no n̷o̸ ̶n̵o̵-_

_He got what he w͟anted̵ he completed his mission-_

_It’s another EMP they’re going to-_

_Sufficient power for ṱ̡̺̰͇̰̗w̧̛̳̣̘o͘ centuries-_

_It’s stress levels are too high it’s self destructing-_

He tries to move-

_He doesn’t know if he succeeds-_

He keeps going though, searching for input, for safety.

Among the sea of memory-recall, they hear Zachary’s peers taunting them both- their skin tingling with the aftershock of the EMP.

_He needs it alive-_

_”That’s enough-!”_

_No input no input no input-_

_“Wat̵c̸h o̸ut̷!̵”_

**I AM A-D-L-E-I-A-V-D-E**

* * *

The coffee hasn't even sputtered half his sludge when the power goes out. He curses as he fumbles around for his phone, everyone else doing the same. The back-up generators shouldn’t take long to kick in, so he’s not worried about working in the dark.

But he _is_ worried about the vibrant red that runs past the breakroom.

“What the-” He abandons his coffee to see Nines and Connor flee down the hallway- into the bathroom. A glance in the other direction told him nobody else had noticed them, and were still trying not to trip over or blind each other.

He wastes no time in following them, his phone lighting the way. 

The inside of the bathroom is completely dark when he pushes the door open, not having the benefit of the muted light filtering through the windows. 

Well. Completely dark, except for the violent crimson ring against the indistinct black. 

"Nines? Connor?" 

No answer. He lifts his phone, the beam of light from the flash revealing the huddled form of the brothers hiding under the sink, as far away from the door as they can be. 

Gavin approaches cautiously, “Guys?” He wonders as he sinks to his knees with a bit of space between them. They don’t acknowledge him at first. He might as well be a ghost.

Thunder rumbles past the door, and the brothers manage to shrink back further.

Were they… scared of the storm?

He catches their mouth shaping words, but it's not anything he can hear over the insistent pattering of the sky above and the officers trying to get work back in order. 

Unsure of himself, Gavin puts a hand on their shoulder, a stronger grip this time to try and get a reaction from the two. “Nines? Hey, Nines you in there?” He’s hoping that he can reach his partner, at least- and that calming Nines will help him calm his brother.

Gavin still doesn’t get a reaction, so he leans closer, and manages to catch something they say.

“-I need it alive- I need-”

 _I?_ Only one of them is speaking? That alone wasn’t cause for concern, but they didn’t _correct_ themselves- they always tried to, but there's so much _conviction_ in Nines’ voice that it worries him. What if they merged too far, and lost their separate personalities entirely?

He tries to push that worry down, it won’t help them- two minds _or_ one.

What did they mean by _it?_ An android? 

“Connor? Is that you?” He shakes their shoulder, because he doesn’t remember Nines _ever_ using ‘It’ to refer to an android, but Connor did- before.

And this time, he gets a reaction. The android pulls him into their grip- his phone clattering to the floor, thankfully with the flashlight up so he can still see- keeping him close as they speak louder, "Don't touch- don't touch it, it- it'll self destruct, it-!"

Connor probably wouldn’t let him this close in normal circumstances, but this is so far removed from normal Gavin doesn’t think it matters right now. He squirms a bit, but the grip only tightens. Painfully, almost. 

"No, no, no, stop it, stop it, I'm going to- he'll kill me he'll kill me he-" The rising voice is immediately strangled by a choked sound, and the grip slackens slightly. 

Clarity makes Gavin’s stomach drop. The interrogation room. The deviant. Connor, with a bullet in his head.

Another RK800 showed up the next day, saying _he_ was Connor- _and he is, now, Gavin supposed_ \- but he never knew Connor remembered _dying._

Fucking hell. He _really_ wishes he could deck the twisted bastard that thought _this-_ making him _remember-_ was a good idea. 

“Connor, you’re not dying.” He tries to tell him, avoiding the fact that he _has,_ “You’re alive." Still lacking a response, he bites back a frustrated sound. "C'mon, Connor- it's Gavin. Can you hear me?”

He twists around as best he can in their grip, one hand catching their shoulder, and the other- 

The spark of clarity he thought he might've seen is immediately washed away as he's shoved back forcefully. Gavin just barely spares himself from getting brained on the tile floor, and he looks back up to see Connor obviously shielding his regulator.

"D-d-don't, please-" he chokes out a gasp, desperate. "Hank… I… help…"

 _What the fuck is he doing, trying to calm down Connor of all people?_ He should- get Hank. Let the old man take care of his sons- son- whatever they are right now.

He's about to, when Nines's voice stutters out again, grabbing his ankle but just holding him there. “Stop it- stop it- stop- It’s a deviant! I- I- I wanted- alive- I-”

 _Connor’s still in his memories._ The phrasing is similar to what he was saying earlier, but not exactly. Gavin doesn’t know if Connor is in the interrogation room still, or if he thinks he’s somewhere else now. So- was the call for Hank part of a memory too?

Regardless- his LED hasn’t even flashed yellow the entire time he’s been here, and he’s becoming increasingly concerned about Connor reaching a hundred percent stress.

 _Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they're in stressful situations_ \- Past Connor _helpfully_ reminds him.

Great. Fucking great. Fucking _hell-_

He kneels down as best he can with the hand still around his ankle- but as soon as he's in range, he finds himself ensnared in another hold, arms wrapped tightly around him. He keeps his hands away from Connor’s regulator, returning the hug as best as he can- when he spots something on the ground beside the android.

He can't reach his phone from here, but there’s enough light that he’s sure it's a coin. _Connor’s coin_. Gavin reaches over to pluck it off the ground, holding it up where the android could see.

“You know a bunch of tricks, right, Connor? Do you think you could show me?” Connor just stares, so Gavin backs up in the grip- as much as he can- and flicks it into the air, the metallic ping ringing clear above the rest of the ambience. 

He swears briefly as the coin falls in his lap, but he still saw Connor watch where the coin went- so he kinda feels like he’s getting somewhere. Gavin keeps trying things he’s seen Connor do, and he finds himself rambling to fill the uneasy atmosphere, “I used to do card tricks when I was younger, y’know? Well, you don’t- but anyways- my brother always tried to break down the science behind them and take all the fun out of it- besides this _one_ trick. He’d have me do it over and over, looking for when I was using sleight of hand or anything, but he never figured it out- I bet it still annoys-” And Gavin stops, because when he goes to try tossing the coin again, a hand catches it.

“Do you still remember how to do it?” Connor asks, “We’d like to see it someday.”

Gavin nearly deflates in relief when they go back to ‘we’ pronouns- that he actually forgets to answer them for a few seconds.

“Uh- yeah! No, yeah, I still know how- I just might need to practice a bit beforehand. And you two better not google the trick.” He crosses his arms.

Connor smiles- just a bit. Crooked, weak. "We would never." 

“You’ll just do it afterwards,” He shakes his head. Gavin peers at them, then: “Nines in there still? Seemed like only Connor heard me."

Their eyes dart away. "That would be accurate. He's back now, though."

Gavin hesitates. "And… before?"

“...I- Nines- deals with stress internally. So I- he was not processing any external stimuli.”

“Oh.” Then he becomes increasingly aware of how close they are. The hand not rolling the coin across their knuckles is still holding him at his back, and their legs are a bit tangled, “... can we get off the bathroom floor now?”

"Oh," they say, almost an echo of him. "Right." they let go of him, and a traitorous part of his brain immediately misses the contact- but he doesn't have much time to think about it, because they're offering a hand to help him off the floor. He takes it with only the slightest hesitation, and as soon as he's standing, they slip his phone into his hands. 

“Thanks,” He mutters, and then the lights flicker back on, “Generators are on, now. Perfect timing, huh.” So he turns off the flashlight on his phone, and pockets it.

“Did you get your coffee?”

_...He’d kinda forgotten about that._

“I think I'm awake now.”

* * *

They follow Gavin back out into the bullpen, the echoes of their momentary lapse on reality leaving a sensation bordering on unpleasant within their processors. But a comfort flits between both of their minds, easing the sensation. Keeping them steady, for now. At least until they can go home.

“There you two are,” Hank waves at them from his desk. He has a tablet in his hands, playing footage of some sort. Nines and Connor give a quick parting nod to Gavin, before making their way over to their father, who's back to watching the playback. "Evans came back with some footage of six people fleeing the scene of this morning's incident just now. Fowler's really breathing down his neck, at this point- it's only a matter of time before Zach's in a cell. 'Bout damn time."

He turns the device towards them, and they watch as- sure enough- six figures run across the streets, fleeing the scene Gavin attended this morning. There was little doubt in their mind that they had to be the same six individuals that had targeted them.

As the footage ends, Hanks looks up at them with a wry smile- obscured by his facial hair, but clear to both of the androids. But the expression falters slightly at seeing their appearance close up, shifting into something more akin to concern. He opens and closes his mouth, clearly trying to decide whether he should say anything.

Nines raises an eyebrow, daring their dad to ask if they were alright.

Hank sighs and rolls his eyes instead, blessedly leaving them be. They sit down at the chair next to his desk, then, letting a slow exhale escape them.

Soon. _Soon,_ Zachary can be arrested, and they can put _that_ part of the incident, at least, behind them.

They let their eyes wander across the bullpen, catching on Gavin as he slides back into his seat. Without his coffee, they note. He'd abandoned it to help them. To help _Connor,_ when all the pieces started grinding together and he couldn't hide how _broken_ he was. Is.

 _You're not,_ comes a thought. _No more than me._

They frown at the incongruities in their processors, before Connor redirects their thoughts. 

_You know, Nines? He may be an idiot sometimes. But I can see why you have a crush on him._

Nines sends him a pre-construction of himself decking Connor.

His brother’s internal laughter echoes between them, and it leaves a smile lingering on their face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auspice :  
> Totally changed the design of the bathroom in the DPD so that Connor and Nines actually can hide under the sink, hahahah
> 
> Art is posted [here](https://sta.sh/01ey4j1d4ykj)!
> 
> -  
> Deviark:  
> Gavin's card trick story comes from me ;3 I know ONE trick, and someone I knew got really pissed that she couldn't figure out how I did it XD


	7. Integral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time flies.

Simon clears them for work on May 9th.

About a week before that, though, Fowler had given them a few reports to work on. As a test run, of sorts.

"These are pretty low-profile, so it won't matter _too_ much if you screw them up. But if the two of you can work at the same time, then I'll see about getting you both paid once Simon clears you."

As it turns out, working on different things at the same time- despite having two minds -was a lot harder than they might've thought. There were more than a few unfortunate occurrences of phrases and sentences belonging in one report finding their way into the one the other was working on. 

They think it had to do with how their processors considered each other the same entity, most of the time. The information exchange is so fluid as to be completely unnoticeable. 

Fowler takes one look at the reports and sighs. "I figured. Here's what I think: you'll work with Reed in the morning, and Hank in the afternoon. I'll pay Nines for the morning and Connor in the afternoon. Sound good?"

"Yes, sir," they reply, not that they have much of a choice. 

The routine isn't terribly difficult to get used to, once they're finally, _finally,_ back on the job. Hank is easy to work with, given some adjustment with Nines in the mix. Both of them are happy to do something productive with their father, rather than hovering aimlessly all day.

Gavin- and Connor- both manage to feel awkward while Nines works with his partner, though. There's an air of careful, unsure distance between them. Connor still isn't sure how to handle the fact that Gavin went out of his way to help him during the storm, and the detective himself seems to feel similarly. More than a few times, they've caught him watching them with a look that seemed… confused, maybe. Hesitant. 

They've also noticed that he's started to carry a deck of cards in his pocket- but he never mentioned it, so neither did they. 

Connor steps back from the forefront of their mind, as much as he can, while they're working with Gavin. It makes it… easier, he thinks. Even though Nines insists that it's fine, that he doesn't _need_ to do that- he can see how much more comfortable Gavin is when Nines's mannerisms are dominating their actions. 

Still, maintaining that state is uncomfortable for them, to say the least, so they're both there when Zachary Forest is finally arrested, Detective Evans leading him into the precinct with a dour look on his face.

As soon as Gavin notices, he spins his chair to look at Evans, "Well, would you look at that." His face morphs into a smug grin, "Look what the cat dragged in! Finally pulling your weight, _Detective_ Evans?" 

Evans scowls, pushing Forest forward. But as soon as Forest catches sight of Nines, his eyes light up in recognition, and then his mouth twists into a taunting smirk. "Where's the other one? _Nice eye_ , scrap its parts for yourself?" 

They tense. They know not to listen to him, but even so, the seams of their body seem to ache with a discomfiting heaviness. 

A light touch on their arm draws their focus away from the sensation- it's Gavin. 

"Shut up," Evans mutters. They're surprised he spoke up- but perhaps not, as upon closer inspection, he seems to be particularly exhausted, likely irritated from being so. 

Forest is dragged out of sight, and just like that, it's over. He's been arrested. Almost an entire month since the attack, almost an entire month since they've been like _this._

"Fucking finally," Gavin says, pulling away and brushing a hand through his hair. He offers them a crooked grin. "He can't hurt you anymore, and if he is the ring leader- I doubt his buddies will come back for you. Hope that asshole gets life."

They're not sure who's behind the action. Both of them, probably. Connor always hugs Hank whenever they finish a hard case, and Nines- well- he’s just missed the contact he and Gavin used to share.

In any case, from one moment to the next, they have their arms around the detective. Pressing him close. When they process the facts that 1) this is not Hank, 2) that there is no reciprocal response, and 3) _they are hugging Gavin,_ they jerk away. 

The detective is frozen in surprise, eyes wide. "You-" He looks around, and notices others in the bullpen watching them. "I-" He fumbles, "I'm just gonna- grab something from the evidence room." And then he slips away, walking as quickly as he can without it turning into a run. 

Nines panics, just a bit. _I've made a grave error, I shouldn't have-_

_Nines, it was me as much as you. And I'm pretty sure he's just uncomfortable with me._

_That's…_

He doesn't deny it, even though Connor can tell he wants to. 

A hand on their shoulder brings them out of their thoughts, and they blink to see Hank in front of them. His eyes flicker to their temple, and his brows furrow slightly. 

They waste no time in wrapping their arms around him, burying their face in their father's shoulder. Hank pats them on the back reassuringly, wordlessly. 

But… 

_Come on, Nines._

They pull away, watching Hank's eyes flick to their LED again, now yellow, from where it was red before. "We-... we need to…" 

Hank smiles at them crookedly. "Yeah." He pulls back, patting them on the shoulder with just enough force to turn them towards the evidence room. "Go ahead."

Connor’s exact intentions are opaque to Nines, and it doesn't help the slight trepidation buzzing in their circuits. But without further ado, they follow the detective down into the archives.

They move quietly, and see Reed pacing- but he did open one of their cases, so he at least provided the illusion that he was debating _it_ rather than… _them_.

“Reed.”

He jumps, “Jesus, wear a fuckin’ bell.”

“Sorry,” They say, not, but continue, “Connor- I would like to apologize more sincerely though, for making you uncomfortable to be with Nines.”

Gavin stops pacing for a moment, “Nines doesn’t hug people.”

“I enjoy the contact nonetheless, despite not initiating myself very often." They run a thumb over their knuckles, and they're not entirely sure who's behind it. "But you have kept your distance ever since we were merged.”

“Not like you guys had a choice…” Gavin shakes his head, “But that was you, Connor?”

“It was both of us, but it’s a habit for me after a difficult case to hug Hank. Even though I didn’t work on the EMP case myself, staying on the sidelines was…" they lace their fingers together, "stressful.”

“Okay," Gavin says slowly, "but I should be the last person that you touch with a ten-foot pole. I tried to kill you in this same room! And I had _every intention_ to!" 

An undercurrent of _something_ sweeps between them, but unlike Connor’s usual- burying the feeling and forgetting it existed at all- it floats on the edge of their mind. “I tried to kill someone too," Connor says, softly. Eyes on the floor. Every motor process, save for those needed for speaking, halted- every limb frozen in place. "Twice, in fact. The directives were clear in my mind. Capture the deviants. Deactivate the deviants. To not fulfill them was…" he closes his eyes. "Unthinkable. But…" he opens their eyes, and meets Gavin's gaze. "I failed. Someway, somehow, both times, they walked away. Alive." 

He twitches their fingers, lifting their hands to look at them. "I can still imagine how easily I could have ended their lives. But… to this day, Markus has extended his understanding and forgiveness.” He steps closer to Gavin, “That day, you may have tried to kill me. And maybe you have never explicitly apologized to me for it, but why should I blame the you of today for a mistake of the past? You've changed. You've bettered yourself- showed it in your actions because the words don’t feel like they’re enough.” A light smile crosses his face, “Nines cares for you, you know. I can feel it. And he knows- he knows that you care about him, too.”

Gavin immediately bristles. "I- you- wh- I'm not- you-" He stutters, as his face starts to turn an interesting shade of red.

Connor can't help the snort that escapes them, even as they twitch from Nines's own processors starting to heat. "C-Connor-" He interrupts Nines mercilessly. "Come _on,_ you've been dancing around each other for ages!" 

"That's not… I… we…" Gavin buries his face in his hands. "I wasn't ready," he complains, muffled. 

"It never seemed to be the right time," Nines mutters. "I didn't wish to cross any of your boundaries. I wasn't sure if you…" 

“What about now that the idea is in the air?” Connor asks, “Would you go on a date now?”

“Wa- _now_?! While you two are still like that?”

Their face wars between shock and a frown, and Connor continues, “Don't let me stop you. I _will_ be the stereotypical awkward third wheel if I must.”

“You can’t be a stereotypical _anything_ right now. For fuck's sake, the two of you are in the _same body,_ and we're- well- you know!”

"Just pretend I'm not there," Connor replies, smiling blandly.

At that, both Gavin and Nines immediately protest. "That's not how it works-" "I can't ask that of you-"

"You're not asking," Connor draws his hands together, "I'm offering." 

"You always do this," Nines hisses. "You _always-"_

"I'm not going to keep the two of you apart. And besides, it should be temporary anyways. Just until we can be…" he pauses, just for a moment, "separated."

"Then we can wait until then! I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to, this body is _yours_ as much as mine!"

Seconds pass before Connor responds. A feeling they can't identify edges at their mind. "... I really don't mind, okay? Please?" 

Gavin drags his hands down his face, sighing harshly, “We- we could _try-_ okay? But don’t think for a second that I’m going to kiss the both of you. This is just- just for Nines and I to like, hang out after work, right?”

A few thoughts spark between Nines and Connor, quick enough that it was barely words that were sent. They straighten their stance and try to keep their expression mostly neutral. “That sounds agreeable.”

"Right," Gavin mutters, rubbing his hands on his pants. "Cool. Sure. So, uh. Hm. What do we, uh…hm." 

"May I suggest a walk by Ambassador Bridge after work? I would enjoy that. The sunset is around that time, I believe, and the area offers a good view."

Gavin blinks. "Uh- yeah! Yeah, that sounds good," he says, voice a bit high-pitched. He smiles stiffly, lifting a hand with one finger pointed at them, thumb up. "See you then?" 

"See you then," they echo, and promptly leave the room.

* * *

Gavin returns to the bullpen shortly after they do, still very clearly nervous. It's obvious that he's trying not to look at them, but they still manage to notice a few lingering gazes. Good thing androids have excellent peripheral vision. 

"Everything alright with Gavin?" Hank asks them, tilting his head towards the detective. 

Connor and Nines look up at their father from where they were interfacing with the terminal. "He's okay. We talked a few things over. We'll be joining him this evening for a bit before we return home." 

Hank turns to face them fully, giving them an almost appraising look. "The both of you, huh."

"We don't have much of a choice." They exhale softly. "Besides, I- uh, Connor. I'll just be in the background."

Their father crosses his arms, brow furrowing. Concerned. 

"Let them have this, dad- I was the one to suggest they go out." Connor says quietly. 

Hank blinks, uncrossing his arms. "Hey, it's up to you two what you wanna do with your time. But if he makes you- either of you- uncomfortable- just. You don't have to put up with any of his shit, alright?" 

"Don't be concerned, Hank. If he pulls any 'shit,' we will be certain to deal with it in an effective manner."

"I'm not sure if I should be worried."

"About us, or him?"

"Both."

The rest of the day remains uneventful, and when work is done- Gavin meets them outside the station, leaning against his car. "Hey," he says, lifting a hand. 

"Hey," they reply. 

They get into his car without saying much else. A scan informs them that the detective's heart rate is elevated. His knuckles are nearly white from how tightly he grips the wheel. His free leg bounces up and down whenever the car is stopped-

_Relax, Nines._

_Gavin is clearly the nervous one here._

_It'll be fine._

_Of course it will._

Connor smiles, patting their other hand. 

They reach Ambassador Bridge soon enough. They've been here a few times, but every time Connor's here, he remembers that night. The snow, the questions. The gun held at his head. 

_Sorry, I…_

_No, it's okay. I like it here, too- you know that._

Their door opens, bringing them out of their musings. They look over to see Gavin holding their door open for them. He has a hand lifted but held to his chest. He's likely unsure about whether he should offer to help them out. 

_He's trying his best. We should throw him a bone._

_Connor…_

They lift a hand up in clear invitation, and Gavin stares at it for a moment before letting out an "oh" and taking it, pulling them out of the car. 

They straighten as Gavin backs up, letting go of the door. They close it behind them, and let their hand slip from the detective's. 

Connor starts pulling back, mentally, but- _wait, don't- I-_

 _Okay,_ Connor agrees easily. _It'll be okay. I'm right with you._

They realize they've been standing there silently for an inordinate length of time when Gavin coughs, and gestures towards the walkway. "Wanna, uh…"

"Of course," Nines replies, not betraying a single hint of the buzzing of his processors. "Shall we?" 

They make their way to the edge of the water, a casual distance of two feet and six inches between them. Nines takes the side closer to the edge as they make their way down, logging the brilliant hues the setting sun casts over the shifting waters in his memory.

"Hey." They look back towards Gavin. He has a deck of cards in his hands. "I practiced that card trick," he starts, hesitant. "Do you still…"

The trick he told them about during the storm. "Yes," they say. "W-I'd love to see it." 

Gavin pauses at their slip, but nods. 

Before he can get much farther than pulling some of the cards out of the box, though, a gust of wind tears one out of his hands. He curses- but before it can get far, they shoot an arm out and catch it between the index and middle finger of their right hand. They hum with a frown, "Perhaps you can show u-uh, me, when it is less windy, Gavin." They hold the card to him.

He blinks, taking it. "Yeah, thanks. Connor wanted to see it, too, I guess, is he…"

Nines purses their lips. "He wishes for this to be our time." 

"Right," Gavin mumbles as he puts away his cards. 

“Why did you learn card tricks to begin with?” Nines wonders, genuinely curious, and hoping that it would help brush away the tension.

“Thought it was cool when I was younger, impressed some friends and teachers,” he shrugged, “And trying to one-up my brother for what he couldn’t figure out was a bonus.” Gavin grinned, a hint of mischief in his expression.

“You mentioned your brother before, but we couldn’t find anything about him.”

That makes Gavin smile, “Cause he prefers bein’ a digital ghost. Eli loves tech but it’s made him paranoid about online security.” He shakes his head, “Hey, what about you? What do you do?" He suddenly asks. They turn back to face him. "In your free time."

A smile teases at their lips. "Art."

"Art?"

"That is my favorite thing to do, at least." Nines lifts a finger to tap their temple. "I have a program- a digital space, of sorts, in which I render all the feelings I can't name. All the things I don't know how to say, don't know how to express externally…" He trails off to see Gavin staring at them. 

They quickly look down. Their processors are experiencing a curious increase in temperature. "I also like to read. Not on physical books- they're inconvenient. Everything, I- I like to be efficient in my hobbies as well as my work."

Gavin snorts. "Course you do." 

"There is no reason not to maximize enjoyment. Connor might like more traditional methods simply for the sake of it, but I-"

"Hey," Gavin bumps their arm with his shoulder. "Wasn't calling you out on it, 's really a _you_ thing to do."

"Oh."

 _I agree,_ Connor thinks with an internal smile. 

They continue forward in their slow progression. Nines turns their gaze to the water, picking out the hex codes of the setting sun, only to be interrupted by Gavin's voice yet again. "Connor likes more… traditional stuff?"

"Yes. For one thing, he keeps a garden in the backyard." They chuckle lightly. "We can only hope that it will help Hank eat something healthier from time to time."

They make a gesture with their hand, something Nines doesn't do when he talks, "I like to let the garden grow a little more wild, though. Connor used to have a program- it was called the Zen Garden. Everything there was always trimmed to perfection. As I was expected to be during my mission…" They trail off, pausing for 1.14 milliseconds, as they suddenly realize their slip. 

_Shit. Maybe he didn't notice?_ Connor laughs nervously in their mind.

_Perhaps if we don't point it out, it won't become an issue._

"He likes trying out different recipes," they say quickly, hopefully not too quickly. "Various things he finds online. His own ideas, mixed in. We can't taste the food- only analyze the chemical composition, but luckily I-we have Hank to try things he makes." 

Gavin was calm as he listened to Nines- and Connor- speak. They stopped walking as he did, choosing to lean against the railing to look out over the water, over to the twilight glow of the setting sun. "Y’know, you’re using an awful lot of ‘I’s for talking about someone that supposedly isn’t here. He is, isn’t he? This isn't just you and me." It's not a question. 

They fold their hands in front of them. 

The detective sighs, “Connor, you said earlier you could be the awkward third wheel. Can you cut out pretending you’re not here in the first place, and just tell me what you wanna, instead of having Nines filter you out?”

The statement shocks them, somewhat- Gavin seems surprised by his words as well, but he doesn't move to take back what he said. "Uh," they say, intelligently. “But you don’t-”

“Shut.” Gavin holds a hand up, making a closed-mouth motion with his hand, “You’re not as annoying as you are at work. We can live with doing this one damn time.”

"Okay," Connor squeaks. "So-"

“You were talking about things you do?”

“Right, yes.” Connor looks off to the side, “Have you seen North on the news? She’s often with Markus.”

“Jesus, that b- lady can be fuckin’ scary when she wants to be.”

They turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. They let Gavin squirm a bit under their gaze before they continue. “I teach her my combat and negotiation techniques when she's in the city. I find I like helping people and- and that’s probably why I stayed a Detective after my mission was over.” He trails off a bit, and shrugs.

Gavin picks up the thread. “Would you believe that’s why I became a cop?”

He appears almost offended at the look they give him. “I’m serious! I was sick and tired of seeing people get the short end of the stick so I wanted to do what I could. But," he runs a hand through his hair, "fuck, the world's a shitty place, and the more I tried, the less I felt like I was doing any good. Somewhere along the line I started thinking if I was higher up the chain, maybe _then_ I could do more- and coworkers getting pissed at me stepping on some toes was a small price to pay if it meant more civilians got the justice they needed."

Cautious, they join Gavin at the railing, still leaving a few inches of space between them. "More civilians? So you did not care if a co-worker needed justice?"

Gavin huffed, "I always sorta thought that a cop could take care of themselves. ...I don't think that anymore." He adds, softly.

The three of them stand there quietly, as the orange hues of dusk are swallowed by the magentas and violets of impending darkness. As the first stars flicker into existence, silent sentinels of the universe. 

And at exactly 8:03 PM, they receive a call.

**CONNECTION REQUESTED FROM PL600 #501 743 923**

**ACCEPT?**

"Simon's calling us," they inform Gavin. "Give us a moment."

⊳ **YES**

**RK800 #313 248 317 - 52 | RK900 #313 248 317 - 87 CONNECTED.**

⊳ Hello? 

⊳ _Hey, Connor, Nines!_ Simon sounds happy _,_ _Good news, we just finished fixing_ _the last bit of_ _Connor's body! Whenever you two are ready, we can reinstall his processor and_ _get_ _Nines_ _fixed too_ _._

⊳ Oh. Will tomorrow work? - It was a Saturday, conveniently. - Ten in the morning?

⊳ _That'll work. The whole procedure might take a few hours, that okay? Not that you'll be conscious for it._

They try to imagine what it would be like. To enter unconsciousness like _this,_ and to awaken… separate. Apart. Divided.

⊳ That's fine.

⊳ _Alright, sounds good. You're almost there, you two._

**CONNECTION END**

Almost to what, they wonder. 

"Good news, I hope?" Gavin asks, and they figure he must have been watching their LED.

They open their mouth to reply, but no words come out. They close their mouth, looking away, back over the water. "Tomorrow," they state. "Ten in the morning. We will… undergo the procedure to be separated." 

Gavin's expression lights up. "Finally! At the tower, right? I can come with- i-if you want," Gavin backpedals his excitement, and they smile tentatively.

Part of them fully expects another conflict of dialogue when they move to reply. But the "yes" that spills from them is cohesive, free of any distortion.

"Okay. I'll be there, then."

The silence blankets them once more- not suffocating- just, peaceful. Until Gavin speaks once more, "Do you think you'll slip up your words after? When you're separated?"

"Perhaps." They answer, "But perhaps not. The confusion in our dialogue is mostly subconscious. So it could also be resolved the moment we wake."

"Hm."

They run a finger across the edge of their sleeve. "We wonder…" they trail off.

A few seconds pass before Gavin speaks up. "Wonder what?"

Their fingers slow. "We wonder what it'll be like. This entire month, it's always been… us. We are two, but one. Tomorrow… we'll just be… two." They glance up to see Gavin looking at them, brows furrowed. "We wonder if it will be… lonely."

Gavin shifts, scuffing a foot on the ground. "Well, you guys had to learn how to be together- I guess after, you have to learn how to be apart again."

"We suppose." 

They start walking again, heading back the way they came. Gavin doesn't say much, but Nines tells him about the books he's read. That he also designs clothes, but most of them are too… _regal,_ perhaps, for the general public. 

As they reach Gavin's car, the last of the light fades- enough for the streetlights to flicker online. A chill blows through the area, and the detective gives a shiver. 

"You two need a ride home?"

"We can take an autocab."

The look the detective gives them makes Connor want to squirm. "Get in the fuckin' car. I don't bite."

* * *

With a murmured exchange of "Good night"s and "See you tomorrow"s, they find themselves back in front of their home. 

They unlock the door, pushing it open and seeing Hank turn to greet them. 

"Hey," he mumbles, waving lazily at them. Sumo perks his head up from his bed, but he doesn't come over. "How'd your rendezvous with Gavin go?"

"Surprisingly well." They rub their forearm absently. "We talked about a bunch of things."

Hank glances up at them. "And Connor?"

"Me… too. Later. Gavin did notice I was still there despite trying to remain in the background. We thought he'd be unhappy about it, but he told us to stop pretending I wasn't there, more or less. It was… nice, we think."

"Huh," Hank says, looking forward again. 

They get their shoes- Connor's shoes- off and step into the living room. "Simon called us while we were with him. Connor's body has been repaired." 

At that, Hank jerks and meets their eyes. "Really?"

They nod. "Tomorrow, at 10 AM, we will go to the tower to undergo the procedure of returning Connor to his own body and properly restoring this one as Nines'."

Hank gives them a searching look. "Don't wanna wait a bit? Android or not, surgery can be scary."

"That is unnecessary. We'll be fine, Hank," they reassure. The last time their father was in a waiting room… well. They suppose it's fair that he might be apprehensive.

"Okay." Hank lets them go. "I'll drive ya- don't think for a second I'm not gonna be there for you."

"Of course." They hover for a few seconds. "We'll be… heading to bed. Goodnight, Hank."

"Night, Connor. Night, Nines."

They make their way to their rooms, before pausing in front of Connor's. _This will be the last time we sleep together like this…_

The first day seems like so long ago. Newly together and still reeling from the shock. 

They push the door open, closing it behind them once they're inside. The room doesn't look any different from the last time they were in it, but standing here, now- things feel a bit more- final. They look at the belongings Connor had accumulated. Clothing he liked- plus the shirt he "borrows" from Hank. There are also photographs along the walls. Connor wanted them printed, not scrolling by on a digital screen- and then there's Connor's painting.

They step closer to it, and Nines- knowing his fingers won't damage it- runs their left hand across the canvas. Black branches spread from a circle in the center, spiderwebbing like cracks in a mirror- Nines traces the path of one from the outside in, stopping on one of the crimson blooms, before continuing his trail to the circle. He lingers there, pausing, before spreading his fingers to line perfectly with the hand reaching out from the center.

"Do you always feel like you must escape something? Be it your feelings, or your past, there always seems to be a wall you hide behind. Only just barely reaching out."

 _Nines_ , Connor's inner voice is small, and with a sigh, he leaves the thought be.

Methodically, they pull the blanket away; Connor rolls into bed, and they replace the blanket over themselves.

"Tomorrow," they murmur, staring at the ceiling. 

They close their eyes and let stasis swallow their mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Devi: The painting this time was made by me! Ausp did take it to do up the background/some effects though<333 And it's been sitting around in our folders since [How Slowly We Learn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577827) was made XP


	8. Independence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The separation. The divide. The end of something. Or the beginning of another?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dev: Idk if I ever mentioned, but I threw away the canonical layout for Hank's house forever ago, so that's why the boy's rooms are in the mysterious place of "upstairs" :p

As their father drives them back to the tower, there's an undercurrent of tension filling the car- disrupted only by the sound of Connor flicking his coin across their hands. 

When Hank parks, they catch sight of Gavin's vehicle- he must already be inside, then.

"I know you asked Gavin to show up," Hank sighed, "But I'm not going to enjoy waiting the next few hours with him."

"Maybe you two will find new ways to insult each other with the free time." 

Hank makes a complicated face. "Which one of you is saying that," he grumbles.

They blink, and lift their shoulders in a shrug. "Perhaps more one than the other, but we couldn't tell you which."

"Huh…" is Hank's only response.

Their dad grabs a bag with their clothes in it, and then they enter the building. They quickly spot Gavin in one of the chairs, and he stands when he catches their eye. "Hey," he greets. "You ready?"

_Are they?_

They nod, regardless.

The four- three? Four of them approach the desk, where Simon is speaking with one of the secretaries.

"Hello, Simon." They greet, and Simon turns to them.

"Hey you two," He smiles, "All of you can come up, there's a place you can wait just outside the operating room."

So they do.

The elevator reaches floor 8 with a soft ding, and they enter a room awash with light streaming through the tall glass windows. An area previously occupied with desks and office equipment is now populated by comfortable chairs, tables, and various magazine tablets. Further in is a set of doors to another room, the interiors of which are obscured by sheets across the smaller windows. 

"Make yourself at home," Simon tells Gavin and Hank, gesturing to the room. "Hopefully, we won't take longer than two hours."

"Thanks," Hank gives Simon an awkward nod, and then turns to Connor and Nines. "Almost there, huh?"

"Yes…" they murmur. 

Hank reaches forward to grab their arm. After a moment of hesitation, he pulls them into a hug, hand brushing briefly through their hair. "We'll be right here, yeah?" 

They tighten their grip slightly. "Okay," they say, and then let go. 

Gavin, when they turn to face him, has a mostly neutral expression. But his unease is clear- in his crossed arms, in the shifting of his weight from one foot to the other. "So," he starts. "Gonna be off to robot surgery now?"

"Mm," they hum, "Yes." 

"Nervous?"

"Maybe."

Gavin uncrosses his arms, an unsure look on his face. His hand twitches, like he wanted to lift it, but he only curls his fingers into fists. "You'll be fine. You've been through worse, right?"

They wonder what kind of scale 'worse' is evaluated on. "We suppose," is all they say. 

The detective seems to struggle with something, before approaching them. He lifts a hand and puts it on their shoulder. The touch is grounding. 

"You'll do great," he says, and lets them go.

"Thank you," they say. They start walking towards where Simon waits for them- but pause, turning around to see Hank and Gavin one more time. "See you later?"

"Yeah." "Later, kid."

They follow Simon to the 'operating' room, then.

As they enter, their gaze travels over the sheet-covered windows, and as they move further in, they note that any indication the room had been used for design purposes was long gone. Two beds were a few feet apart, one of them already occupied- but the individual was covered.

It didn't take them long to realize _Connor's_ body was in that bed. 

"Alright, could you please remove your clothes- you can keep undergarments on, of course." Simon asks, and they comply, toeing off Connor's shoes, removing Nines' pants and shirt. They place them on the nearby counter, and then sit down on the free bed.

"Lean back? I'll be using this machine to put you in and out of stasis like before." He holds up the cord they remember having back when they first woke up in the tower. 

They move as needed, letting the skin behind their neck vanish. They hear a small click as the cord locks into place.

SYNCING...

"Ready?"

EXTERNAL CONNECTION ESTABLISHED

ADMINISTRATOR AUTHORITY GRANTED

"Ready." They respond.

ENTERING STASIS…

* * *

CYBER **LIFE** INC.

MODEL RK800

SERIAL#: 313 248 317 - 52

BIOS 8.2 REVISION 0162

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… OK

INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK

MEMORY STATUS… OK

ALL SYSTEMS OK 

READY

Connor blinks against the light. Data floods in, an old familiarity in the stream. But it feels… less, somehow.

He twitches his fingers, testing the joints. Uncalibrated. Unwieldy. 

"Connor? Nines?" 

"Hello, Simon," Connor hears. It sounds… different. The sounds, the input. Less. He feels… 

… 

"Hey." Connor says, in his own voice. There is no hoarseness from neglect.

"How do you guys feel?"

He's not sure who initiates it, but in moments, he feels the familiar brush of Nines' code against his own, and they are exchanging diagnostics and rapidfire, half-formed thoughts.

It still feels like there is a wall between them, keeping them seperate, but…

"We're operational."

Simon's eyebrows shoot up, " _We?_ You _are_ separate though?" 

"Yes." Connor replies.

A sigh of relief, Simon speaks again, "Can I bring Gavin and your dad in now?"

They both sit up, and he sees Nines tilt his head, "Perhaps just our father first- he has a change of clothes for us again."

"Right." A nod, and Simon slips out of the room. 

Connor and Nines, silent, stare at each other. Nines has been fully restored to the way he was before- he doesn't have a brown eye anymore, both irises shining with his own icy blue, and where his skinmap once flickered with mismatched meshes is now seamless nanoskin. 

After a beat, Nines stands, and sits next to Connor on his bed.

Nines takes Connor's left hand with his right, and Connor feels an interface request- but it cancels itself as the door opens, and they both turn their heads to see their father in the doorway.

There's a moment where Hank just looks between the two of them, but it's short-lived as he quickly rushes over, enveloping the two of them in a hug.

"No problems or anything?" Hank asks in the embrace.

Nines responds, "Our diagnostics came back normal."

"Okay, okay." They let go, and Hank picks up the bag he'd set down nearby, "Let's get some clothes on you two, yeah?"

They agree. That morning, they had grabbed what clothes they wanted to wear, leaving Connor the shirt and sweatpants he'd put in the bag. Nines takes out the socks and shoes that will now fit his feet, and goes back to the stack of clothes they set aside when they were- _they_.

Dressed, they head into the lobby, where Gavin was standing and pacing. Nines walks over, and Connor is about to do the same, when Hank puts a hand on his shoulder, "What are you doing?"

 _What_ was _Connor doing?_ "Showing Gavin that Nines and I are separate now?"

"I think Nines can do that," he says, brow furrowing. "You don't have to…" He gestures vaguely, and Connor is sure he means that Connor doesn't have to see Gavin, now. 

"Oh. Right." Connor looks down, playing with his fingers, as he realizes Nines has his coin. "I think our thoughts from earlier are still left behind."

Hank squints. "And what's that mean?"

"Nines wanted to show Gavin once we woke up, and once we did, I still had that thought Nines had- even though… that should go away soon though, now that we're not thinking with each other."

"O-kay." Hank nods, but Connor's still not sure his dad entirely understood. "So, uh… Do you wanna still talk to him, then?"

Connor opens his mouth to reply, but hesitates. _Does he?_ He glances over to his brother, who has at this point already started talking to Gavin. Stiffly, he's sure. 

"Maybe…" he says quietly, even as his feet carry himself towards them. 

"-back to work soon, then?" Connor picks up, as he starts listening to their conversation. 

"That is likely," Nines replies, before looking back to see Connor approach. 

"Hey." He says, unsure of where to even start, **[GAVIN |** **TENSE** **]** flashing in the corner of his mind.

"Hello," Nines returns, before tilting his head. In a smooth motion, he reaches into his pocket and holds out his fist. Connor reaches forward in turn, and once his palm is under Nines's hand, his brother releases the quarter, letting it land in his waiting grasp.

"Thanks," Connor replies, his eyes flicking to Gavin, and then back. He's still not sure what he's doing.

Then, there's a ping from Nines: _Do you want to talk to him?_

_I don't even know what to say._

_Anything you want._

_That's not helpful, Nines._

"What's the lightshow for? You two talking behind my back?" Gavin interrupts then, a mischievous smile on his face.

"N-no!" Connor objects, at the same time Nines says, "Why, of course not."

"Both of you are shitty liars, I swear." He shakes his head.

"Or maybe we just pretend to be." Connor smiles stiffly, hoping that it fools Gavin.

"Sure, sure." Gavin's arms uncross, "Guess you're looking forward to just working with your old man again?

"I can still hear you!" Hank calls from a few feet away.

Gavin raises a middle finger in his defense, smirking. 

Connor manages to suppress his snort with a cough, before giving a thoughtful hum. "I guess so. In response to your question. Nines and I can finally get paid for our full hours, again." 

"Oh, yeah. That." 

None of them say anything for a moment, and Connor's still trying to scrounge up dialogue when Gavin asks, "So, uh, how are you two feeling?"

Connor blinks. "We're operational," he says, just as he had before.

This earns him a squint from Gavin. "Operational, huh."

"Yes," Nines answers for them, crossing his arms behind his back. "Everything is back in place. Our bodies have been fully restored." 

Gavin's squint turns to Nines. "What about…" he gestures vaguely to his head, then his voice drops, "Is it lonely?"

"It's a bit early to tell." Nines responds slowly, "But it is- certainly different." Connor nods his agreement.

"Okay." And then he glances down at his phone, "Uh, shit- sorry- I promised my brother we'd have lunch today, see you guys at work?"

"Yes," Nines nods. "See you." Gavin wavers a moment, and then gives a quick nod in their direction, before striding to the elevators. Connor silently watches him go.

"We should get going ourselves." Hank remarks, "I had to deal with one too many assholes already."

Connor hums absently, eyes still on the elevator. "Right…"

Their dad gives him a look, but says nothing more as they make their way to the elevators.

Nines is the one to bring it up again, once they're outside, on their way to the car. "You deal with Gavin all the time, yet you seem more agitated than usual."

"Oh," Connor blinks. "Yeah, wasn't it just Gavin?"

"I wish it had been," Hank gives snort, as he opens the car door and sidles inside. 

Connor joins him in the passenger seat without thinking, and it's only when Nines pauses by the door that he realizes that he'd probably prefer to sit in the back with his brother. 

_Ah, sorry, I can—_

_Don't worry about it, Connor. You usually sit here._

Nines slides into the back seat without another word. Before Connor can formulate another response, Hank speaks up. "Someone else decided to pop by while we waited."

Right, the 'other asshole.' 

Nines tilts his head. "Oh?" 

"Apparently, Kamski was called to help get your guys blueprints," Hank explains.

Oh. "We knew." They both say.

"Yeah, and- wait, _what?!"_

"I was uneasy about it as well," Connor clarifies, "But as long as he was there to assist, I didn't see an issue with it myself. Despite failing his 'test', he did provide me with useful information."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Connor was certain you would be unhappy with the decision."

"Well yeah, I'm fuckin' unhappy about it, but he _did_ help?" 

"Yes. After Jericho recovered some corrupted files of ours, Kamski was able to recover and decrypt them to reveal enough of our blueprints to handle the parts we both needed."

Hank sighs heavily. "Then just because _I_ don't like him, you didn't have to keep it a secret."

"Got it." Connor responds.

While Hank focuses on the road, Connor wonders how Nines is doing in the back seat.

 _I am… managing._ Nines' thought comes through, and Connor realizes a wireless connection between them is already open.

 _Oh- sorry, I think the connection was an accident._ It had to be, right? Nines and him exchange a bit of data, and find there was no request sent or accepted, they were just- connected. 

_Unless we also bypass connection requests with other androids, I don't think this is a concern…_ Nines thinks, a few feelings lingering around the thought that translated to- _only if you're okay with this._

 _Well, I'm definitely not telling Hank to turn around._ Connor smiles faintly. He pauses, then, and looks down at his hands. _And I'm… okay with it._

More than okay.

Nines hums softly, and Connor wonders if he heard the last bit, too. 

Before long, they pull up on their driveway. "Well," Hank gives them a half grin. "Welcome home." 

It's strange. In a way, Connor hasn't been _here_ for almost a month. In another way, he has. 

_I haven't been 'I' here for a month, either,_ Nines replies to his thought. _It's… different._

They follow their father inside the house, only for Connor to nearly get bowled over by one hundred and seventy pounds of St. Bernard. 

"Sumo!" Connor laughs, pulling his head back to avoid the slobbery appendage doing its best to slather his face. "Aw, stop it!" He ruffles the dog's ears aggressively- but affectionately. "Yes, yes, I'm back." 

"Alright, you big lug, let him get in the door." Hank mercifully pries the dog off of him- or he tries, before Nines taps his shoulder and takes over, lifting Sumo easily and freeing Connor from his fluffy prison.

Connor stands, and now that they're all in the house properly, tasks begin to prompt him:

**⊳ Tend to Garden** **⊳ Meditate in Connor’s Garden**

 **⊳ Find a Recipe to cook for Hank** **⊳ Find A New Book To Read**

 **⊳ Pet Sumo** **⊳ Access Happy_Place**

Hang on a second. Connor frowns, and he thinks he sees Nines do the same.

 _I have your hobbies listed in my HUD,_ Nines informs him over their- seemingly subconscious- link.

 _Me too_ , Connor answers, and their LEDs flicker yellow as they sort out their tasks back to normal.

~~**⊳ Pet Sumo** ~~

**⊳ Tend to Garden**

**⊳ Find a Recipe to cook for Hank**

Tasks fixed, Connor turns to Hank, "We're heading to my garden, I should be done trimming before supper."

"Um," Hank frowns, "You're both going?"

Nines nods, "I haven't meditated since we were together, so I'll be sitting in my usual spot."

Their dad's eyebrows tick up in surprise, "Okay, well- if you need me or anything, I'm making lunch- I'm starving."

Connor nods, and then makes his way to the garage to grab his supplies. Silently, Nines follows him- even though he could head to the garden and wait for Connor there. He doesn't mind his brother's presence, though, and thinks nothing of it as they exit out the back to the garden. 

The intermittent clouds have given way to a soft rain, just enough to speckle their artificial hair. Both he and Nines enjoy it- a quiet, calm sort of weather. But he pauses for a moment, as the clouds drift, opening gaps in which the brilliant rays of the sun cast the rain into glittering rainbows. 

Nines tilts his head towards the sky, and Connor's sure that his brother is taking the moment to capture the experience in finer detail, picking it apart to reconstruct at a later time. 

Connor blinks, and refocuses onto the reason he's out here. When they were one, they still tried to touch-up the garden here and there, but it still ended up growing a little more wild than he liked. Without Nines' thoughts mixing with his own, it was easy to move from plant to plant, snipping away and removing any pesky weeds.

At some point, Nines makes his way to one of the two large rocks in the garden- his preferred places to sit and meditate. He's careful to step in the gap between the flowers as he climbs up, and then folds his legs in a cross-legged position. Connor sees his brother watch him, for a bit, out of the corner of his eyes, before he closes his eyes- LED transitioning from steady cycling to a slower pulsing. 

Connor continues to make his way around his garden. It takes him a while, but eventually, everything is just as he likes it- plants trimmed to a neat wildness. He glances back at Nines, then, who's still deep in his meditation. Hmm. 

He makes his way over, stepping in the gap between the flowers, climbing up next to his brother. For all the time they've spent together here, Connor has never actually joined him in meditation. Maybe it'd be nice. 

So he closes his eyes, drawing himself into the tranquil emptiness echoing through their still-present connection. It feels… he feels… _really calm._ He's not sure how to describe it. He can almost _feel_ Nines clearing his caches, freeing up his background processes. Stress inching near zero. Connor is amazed, almost, at how _calm_ Nines can really get. He is completely still in body and mind- doesn't even breathe, not that he needs to, and it only adds to the feeling of total peacefulness. 

Connor is so lost in the feeling that it takes Nines's hand on his shoulder to pull him out of it. His brother looks curiously at him, an unspoken question hanging between them. _You meditated? Did you enjoy it?_

_Yeah… yeah, I think so…_

Nines takes his hand as they step off the stone, and then they part to gather Connor's tools. He doesn't think much of how he puts everything perfectly back into their designated places until he feels a mental nudge from Nines- _you're organizing everything…? Not that I'm complaining._

Oh. So he is. That's… something. 

_Maybe you rubbed off on me,_ he replies absently. _Um, do you want to do it?_

Nines blinks at him, and then holds his hands out to take Connor's tools. He passes them to his brother without another thought, and Nines wastes no time in putting things right back into place. 

By the time they head inside, it's almost dinner. Connor immediately makes his way to the kitchen to get started with cooking- only to pause when Nines follows him, already starting to roll up his sleeves. 

"Uh, Nines?"

His brother freezes for a solid 1.62 seconds, before rolling his sleeves back down. "Right. I will… I've been meaning to find a new book to read." He turns around without another word. 

Hank eventually notices Connor starting to prepare dinner, and he squawks in indignation, "Connor! You got started without me?"

"Sorry, Hank," he says, not at all sorry. 

They soon finish, things going faster with another set of hands. Before long, they call Nines back, and the three of them sit down at the table. Connor and Nines have a cup of thirium each- not they they really needed any, but their dad felt less awkward if they had something with them versus just 'watching him eat'. 

"You two getting your routines back in order now?" He wondered. "Must be nice to have some space between you two."

Something shifts in Connor's mind at that, strangely jarring, but without even thinking about it, the feeling is brushed away in favor of answering. "Our tasks still prompt us incorrectly, but that should go away with time."

Their dad nods, "So like, you're getting Nines' book recommendations?"

"Something like that." Connor agrees, and Nines adds, "I have Connor's cookbooks in my own mind, along with a list of examined substances."

That makes Hank squint, "You lick my supper?"

"Not what you _eat…"_ He smiles, sheepish, but not at all sorry.

Hank glares at him, but Connor is glad to say that he's immune at this point. Regardless of his reservations about Connor taste-testing his food, though, Hank finishes his dinner rather quickly. The three of them all work together to clean up, despite their father's complaints that he's the only one actually eating. 

"Just give it up, Hank. We're helping whether you like it or not." 

After everything's put away, Nines excuses himself upstairs to read- after a quick hug from their dad- and then he and Hank sit in the living room to watch the night's basketball game.

When it's over, the TV is turned off, and the house feels sharply quieter than before. "Gonna go sleep soon?" Hank asks.

"Yeah. Night, Hank." Connor says, and they hug. Hank goes to his room, and Connor heads upstairs, glancing into Nines' bedroom. He has a new book up on his tablet. "Night Nines." His brother looks up from his e-reader.

"Good night, brother." He says with just the slightest smile.

A _click click click_ of nails follows Connor into his bedroom, and he opens a dresser drawer, pulling out his pyjamas. He puts his day clothes in the hamper, and the moment his PJs are on, he flops into bed. He doesn't bother with the blankets, and just lays on top of them, as Sumo hops up to join him.

"Hi, Sumo." He says quietly, scratching the St. Bernard behind the ears as he makes himself Connor's blanket instead, sprawling across his chest. Good thing he didn't totally need to breathe.

Minutes pass to an hour, and although Connor is lying with the dog in a more comfortable position, he still can't enter stasis. He tries to but it just- _fails._ A slowly growing tension has him wondering if there's an error in his diagnostic progrogramming that's missing something, but he can't find anything wrong with it, so he wonders if it has to do with his deviancy. If there's a kind of 'Android Insomnia'. 

He sighs, and although the tension eats away at him, he gets out of bed. Sumo lifts his head and looks out after him.

In the hallway, Nines' door is still open an inch, but Connor still takes a moment to knock.

"...Nines, are you still awake?"

There's a shift, and then, "Come in."

He grabs the handle, and shuts the door the same amount it had been after he's entered.

Nines is in his own pyjamas- the black 'goth snuggie', as Hank is fond of calling it. He's sitting up in bed, under the covers. His e-reader was set aside on the nightstand. "What do you need?"

"I need…" But he trails off, because he doesn't know how to verbalize _why_ he's standing here.

But whatever it is must have jumped across their link, because Nines doesn't hesitate to lift a portion of the covers and raise a hand towards him- a clear invitation.

Connor steps closer, and takes his brother's hand. Slowly, he's pulled into the bed with Nines, and the blankets are drawn over them as they find a comfortable position to lay down in.

They face each other, hands still clasped together. Cold blue eyes meet warm brown. After a moment, Connor moves his right hand up to Nines hair, running the hand through it like he's done before on their lazier days. Nines' reaction is always so immediate- his tension falls away like water through parted fingers, as he melts into the repetitive motion with an absent hum. Connor, too, allows himself to sink into the sensations, the strands soft under his touch.

Connor can feel an echo of his own ministrations, through a direct interface from their interlocked hands. Together, like this...

It feels…

They feel… 

_Right._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Devi: Don't be too sad about the ending- it's not over! Ausp & I have a sequel planned ;3c
> 
> Auspice: *laughs* oh, there is still _much_ to go though >:3c
> 
> Chapter art is posted on dA [here](https://sta.sh/0voh1zsslu4)! 
> 
> Also, this is what Nines's pajamas look like:  
> 
> 
> also posted on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice/status/1258749921143828481?s=20). I'm all over the place, whoops


End file.
